


Murphy's Law

by Lightning4119



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, JKR is an idiot so I'm fixing this mess, Not Epilogue Compliant, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, canon will be taken out and shot, reality ensues and then we tell it to go fuck itself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 166,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25516468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightning4119/pseuds/Lightning4119
Summary: Harry wins but has nobody to share the victory with. Turns out, time travel is possible, so we've got another Peggy Sue fic on our hands, folks. Cross-posting from my FFN profile.Decent!Dumbledore. Harmony-ish. May be Gray!Harry later.
Comments: 173
Kudos: 300





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic when I was still in high school, back in 2009. When I more or less abandoned it to die in the cold a couple years later, I wasn’t busy, or burned out, or depressed, although I’ve been those things since. I just wasn’t feeling the magic anymore. Harry Potter was a big part of my growing up, but as I went back and reread the books I found it harder and harder to feel emotionally involved. I occasionally tried to come back to it, but it just wasn’t coming together in a way I was willing to accept. I moved on to other fandoms, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, etc. and just never really felt like Harry Potter was what I remembered it to be. Eventually, I came back to it, threw out most of what I had, and started fresh with the same basic concept but with hopefully better writing.
> 
> This entire work is presently un-edited, so please excuse any typos.

The final battle of a war is usually dramatic in stories, and generally goes to the same formula. The hero overcomes his personal limitations to win, casts his enemy down, and lives forever on a steady stream of sponsorship royalties and groupies.

But as Harry James Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Won, the Chosen One, He-of-Many-Titles, looked around the smoking, stinking battlefield that used to be Hogwarts, living forever sounded about as appealing as a threesome with Snape and the Giant Squid.

Lord Voldemort was dead. Finally, truly, properly dead. Harry had defeated Voldemort through a trick. Rather than fight a duel he knew he had no chance of winning, Harry had fired a high-powered Blasting Hex at the castle and dropped the entire Gryffindor Tower on Voldemort. His last words had been “ _Avada_ \- oh, bugger me,” and then a revolting splat.

Harry had never been under any illusions that everyone would make it out of the final battle alive, especially considering that most of the fighters on the side of the Light weren’t old enough to smoke. Sending children into the meat grinder of war was a great way to make sausage, but not a great way to have plenty of survivors. But the carnage had been worse than he could have imagined.

Ron had died fighting Fenrir Greyback, the transformed werewolf savaging him violently even as Ron had blown apart Greyback’s midsection with his dying breath. Ginny had been hit by a stray Killing Curse trying to save her brother. Moody, Lupin, Tonks, and the Weasley twins had all died fighting the Death Eaters. McGonagall and Flitwick had been seriously wounded, and Madam Pomfrey was unsure they would live through the night. Slughorn had fled at the first sign of battle, but chances were he hadn’t made it far. Hermione’s death had hit him the worst. She had pulled him out of the way of a curse, taking a cutting spell in the back in the process. She had died in Harry’s arms as he tried to staunch the bleeding, her eyes filled with pain and fear in her last moments.

Harry moved slowly through the battlefield, finding the bodies of his friends. Their faces seemed to stare at him, angry at their own deaths and blaming him from beyond the grave. Oliver Wood. He had died fighting Lucius Malfoy. Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnegan. Luna Lovegood. Ginny Weasley. Neville Longbottom had fallen while fighting Bellatrix. His eyes were still open and fixed straight ahead. Harry moved to close them gently, but Neville’s hand snapped up and grabbed him by the wrist. The boy groaned in pain and clutched at the gaping belly wound Bellatrix had given him before he had killed her.

“Level with me,” he rasped, his face contorting in pain. “How bad is it?”

“You’re going to be just fine.” Harry responded a bit too quickly.

The boy made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh. “You always were an awful liar. Did anyone else make it? Luna? Ron? Hermione?”

Harry shook his head, ignoring the tears that were pooling at the corners of his eyes. “No. I’m sorry, Neville.”

Neville grimaced again. “Did you get him?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I got him.”

Neville closed his eyes, nodding firmly. “Good.” His eyes never reopened.

The tears fell freely now as Harry let out a roar of pain and anguish, his scream echoing across the lonely battlefield. The boy sat there among the bodies of his friends until a large figure approached, the battered and bloody form of Hagrid emerging through the dust and smoke.

“Blimey, Harry, I wasn’t sure what had happened,” Hagrid said softly. “Are you…are you all right?”

“I’m pretty far from all right, Hagrid,” Harry replied.

“I know.” The big man shrugged. “Stupid question.”

“What am I supposed to do after this, Hagrid?” Harry asked. “I…I didn’t really expect to survive. What now?”

“I don’t know,” Hagrid admitted. “You’re bleeding.”

Harry pressed a hand to the side of his head, just above his ear. It came away bloody. “Must have been a near miss.”

“Come on, get to the Hospital Wing. I’ll…I’ll take care of them.” Harry stood, but before he could take a step Hagrid had wrapped him in a hug strong enough to make his bones creak. “I’m sorry you had to go through this, Harry.”

“Thanks, Hagrid. I…you were there for me, before anyone else was.”

Hagrid snorted. “Harry, I’d never try to replace your parents, but to me you’ve always been my boy. Now go on.”

When he arrived in the Hospital Wing, Harry was struck by how empty it was. A harsh truth of an enemy that used Unforgivables without restraint meant that there were rarely many wounded.

Harry saw McGonagall and Flitwick lying in the two beds farthest from the door, McGonagall deathly pale and Flitwick writhing in pain. His old Transfiguration teacher had been hit with a blood loss curse by Macnair, and Flitwick had taken a modified form of the Cruciatus Curse, that continued to cause pain on a lesser scale even if the caster was killed. Yaxley had been just finished casting it when Kingsley hit him in the neck with a cutting curse, beheading him. The boy sat between his former teachers, speaking quietly to McGonagall.

“It’s over,” he said softly. “But lord, the cost…”

“Cost of war,” McGonagall replied. “It’s the way things are.”

“I just wish there was a way to go back, and change what happened.”

McGonagall looked at him sadly and shook her head. “Harry, I’m sorry to say that I do not know of any way to go back far enough in time to stop this from happening. A Time-Turner wouldn’t take you back far enough.” A groan sounded from behind Harry, and he turned to Flitwick.

“There might be a way, Potter,” Flitwick grunted out. “But it’d be risky.” Flitwick dissolved into more groans of pain for a few moments, and then continued, “My question is, Harry, are you willing to take the risk?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Yes. There’s nothing left for me here.”

“It won’t be easy. But I think we can do it.”

—ML—

It took four months. McGonagall finally passed after almost two weeks, soldiering on as best she could even after the continued effects of the curse left her confined to a bed. Flitwick took pain relieving potions hourly, watering them down as much as he dared to prevent his mind from being dulled too far.

Considering there were almost no leads on what they were attempting, four months was nothing short of spectacular. After a certain point, understanding the mechanics of the magic required was beyond Harry, and several spellcrafting experts were brought in, paid out of the remaining Potter fortune and sworn to secrecy under Unbreakable Vows. Harry spent the intervening time researching, learning as much as he could about the previous seven years in between writing bank drafts and planning.

It was a monumental task, but anger is a driving force. Even a small amount of it can be a productive thing, if controlled and directed. Harry had enough anger to power a small country, but rather than the burning fury he had experienced many times in the past, his anger was icy cold.

Finally, they were ready. The ritual took place in a cavern magically excavated in the bedrock below Stonehenge, timed for the proper arrangement of stars and phase of the moon. The walls, floor, and ceiling of the cavern were etched in a dizzying array of runes, and Harry tried not to look too hard as the symbols seemed to move and crawl past each other.

The room was already thrumming with magic, drawing from the ley lines underneath Stonehenge, a circle of goblin-crafted crystals glowing as they absorbed magic and stored it for use.

“Are we ready?” Harry asked, looking to Flitwick, who was leaning heavily on a cane, his eyes slightly glazed.

“As ready as we can be,” the tiny professor replied. “We’ll either send you back in time or crack the planet in half. Either way, it should be quite a show.”

Harry paused. “Professor.”

“Filius,” Flitwick said. “You’re no longer my student. One day in the past you will be again, but it has been a pleasure, a _privilege,_ to help you through this.”

“Thank you, Filius,” Harry said softly. “I…I’ll do my best.”

The Charms professor forced a smile. “When you meet me, mention August 17, 1969, and tell me you need my help. Tell me what’s happened. I’ll help you.”

“I appreciate that.” Harry took a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

Harry took his position, his wand in hand and forcing raw magic into the air as he kept his eyes closed. Flitwick began casting, linking up to the massive pool of magical energy that was coursing through the room. The symbols around Harry began to glow, seeming to crawl faster as the thrumming rose, pushing the boundaries of pain as Harry’s ears began to ring. Harry risked opening his eyes and regretted it as light poured in from every angle, the symbols beginning to blur together until it seemed the entire room was white.

Harry almost stumbled forward a step as the sound in the room abruptly ceased, and the light faded. Harry was blinking away the spots in his vision as he took in his new surroundings.

A warm, soft light surrounded Harry. Wherever he was, it was not the Dursley home, where he should have ended up. Instead, it looked oddly like…well, the lobby of an office building. He was just inside the front the door, a thick oak plank. To his left, there was a desk. To his right, there was a bank of elevators, and Harry gulped. _I’m in royally deep shit. Must be Tuesday_. An elevator dinged, and the doors opened, a woman emerging. She was tall, fit, and casually dressed, wearing black jeans, a dark green t-shirt, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. A cigarette dangled off her lower lip.

“You did have a rough go of it, didn’t you?” She asked gently.

“Who are you? God?”

“Not exactly. The closest I would be to anything you could understand is Fate. When things start to get too unbalanced, I...provide a nudge.”

“You manipulate events,” Harry surmised.

“Not exactly. I poke and prod, give people the flash of brilliance they need when they need it most.”

Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “And that was the payoff? Couldn’t you have done better?”

Her eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t play out according to a plan, boy. It’s not a script or a tidy little novel that wraps up years later in a neat bow with marriages and children. Do you know how many times you could have died? How many thousands upon thousands of times your entire world could have ended? How many things could have changed that would have drastically altered your tiny little planet?”

“Is this the part where you tell me how insignificant I am in the grand scheme of things?”

A scoff. “Hardly. I’ve been here watching as long as there’s been a here, and I’ve never seen anyone or anything in this universe that wasn’t significant. There have been people who have tried what you tried, you know. Some more successfully than others. None truly made it worse, but few made too large an improvement. Cautious, I suppose. But if you think you can do better than your first attempt, by all means, give it a try.”

“That’s why I came,” Harry declared. “I won, but the cost was too high. Those people…they deserved a chance to live.”

“And didn’t you?” she asked. “Don’t you deserve the chance to live your life too?”

“I lost that chance years ago. I’ll live when I can, but priorities, you know?”

She smirked faintly. “Very well.” An elevator door opened, revealing a massive tunnel, brightly lit, with what looked oddly like a giant slingshot pointing down. She passed him a vial, and Harry paused. “That should improve your Occlumency shields, and keep Tom Riddle out of your head. The rest is on you.”

Harry nodded. “It’s more than I expected.”

“When were you planning to land?”

“I was thinking the day I got my first Hogwarts letter, but I suppose the day I met Hagrid would be better, wouldn’t it?” She stared at him. “Right. Not going to answer. Suppose you’ve done more than usual already. Day I met Hagrid, then.”

Ten minutes later, Harry was regretting ever leaving his timeline. He had been dressed in a black bodysuit made of some plastic-like material and loaded nose-first into the barrel of the slingshot. He had been given a smooth, streamlined helmet and told to not hold his breath.

From his position, Harry couldn’t see anything, but heard a hissing sound and then a felt massive kick behind him. The Boy-Who-Lived found himself shooting towards the Earth at a dizzying speed. All he could see below him were thick clouds.

Remembering the last piece of advice he had been given, Harry tried to draw breath, only to find he had been screaming at the top of his lungs. He managed to stop, only to start again a moment later when he realized he had no way to slow his descent.

He blew through the clouds, freezing rain soaking him to the skin as he passed through, and spotted the tiny rock that held the hut Vernon had dragged them all to. _Well, it was a good plan. For about five seconds._ Harry closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

The ground came up and Harry snapped upright, looking around wildly. He was back. _It had worked_. Ignoring how odd his body felt, he adjusted his battered glasses and glanced at Dudley’s watch. Three…two…one…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered, and Harry couldn’t resist the smile spreading across his face. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.

BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake.

“Where’s the cannon?” he said stupidly.

There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands. Who’s there?” he shouted. “I warn you — I’m armed!” Harry was already up and walking to the door, and Vernon scowled. “Get away from the door, boy, don’t think I won’t-”

“They’re clearly coming in,” Harry replied, missing the knob on his first attempt. “Might as well be polite.” He snagged the knob on his second try, ignoring the cold as it swept into the tiny hut.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

“Pardon me, but could I come in?” Hagrid asked politely. “Couldn’t make us a cup o’ tea, could yeh? It’s not been an easy journey…”

“Come in, you must be cold,” Harry replied, stepping out of the way.

“You will do no such thing!” Vernon shouted as Hagrid entered the hut, brandishing the rifle and finding the gumption to advance, pressing up against the couch. “I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!”

“Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune,” said the giant; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon’s hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon squeaked and fell back a step, clearly realizing how outmatched he was. Dudley had vacated the sofa at a speed that belied his size, and was busily cowering in a dark corner of the hut.

“Yeh’ll be Harry, then?” Hagrid asked, looking back to the boy.

“Nobody else wants to be,” Harry replied. “What part do you play?”

Hagrid chuckled. “Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. S’why I’m here. Well, part of it.” He patted down the pockets of his massive overcoat. “The other reason being a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it’ll taste all right.” He fished out the slightly squashed box Harry vaguely recognized, and the newly minted eleven-year-old tried not to notice how his hands shook when he took the box. Inside was the same large, sticky chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Harry_ written on it in green icing he remembered. The first birthday cake he had ever received.

“I...thank you, Mr. Hagrid,” Harry said softly, very deliberately ignoring the burning in his eyes. “It’s lovely.”

Hagrid shuffled slightly. At his size, it looked rather comical. “Think nothing of it, Harry. Please, just call me Hagrid, everyone does. What about that tea then, eh? I’d not say no ter summat stronger if yeh’ve got it, mind.”

“Sorry, we’re fresh out,” Harry said. “But if you can get the fire lit, we’ll get something going.”

Hagrid bent over the fireplace, and a few moments later a roaring fire occupied the space, warming the hut and chasing away the damp. The sofa groaned in protest under Hagrid’s weight as the giant sat down, fishing out odds and ends from his pockets and quickly working up some sausages and tea with Harry’s help.

“Sure yeh don’t want any?” Hagrid asked, looking to the Dursleys. Vernon had settled for glaring at him murderously as Petunia did her best to conceal Dudley. It was a bit like trying to hide a mountain behind a beanstalk. After a few moments of silence, Hagrid shrugged and poured out two cups of tea. “Guess it’s just yeh and me, Harry.”

The two clinked mugs. “Cheers,” Harry said, taking a sip. “Sorry, you mentioned Hogwarts. I’ve never heard of it. Is that a social club of some kind?”

Hagrid paused with the teacup halfway to his mouth. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve never heard of Hogwarts.”

“Yeh don’t know where yer parents learned it all?”

“Learned all what? I don’t know anything about my parents!”

The teacup exploded in Hagrid’s hand and the man roared to his feet. “Do you mean ter tell me,” he growled at the Dursleys, “that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin’ abou’ — about ANYTHING?”

“I’m pretty good at maths,” Harry allowed. “Although my spelling could use some work.”

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, “About _our_ world, I mean. _Yer_ world. _My_ world. _Yer parents’ world_.”

Harry stared at him. “You’re an alien?”

“A what?”

“What world?”

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode. “ _DURSLEY_!” he boomed.

“Look, calm down, Mr. Hagrid,” Harry said.

“Just Hagrid,” the giant replied. Harry tried not to grin.

“Just Hagrid, then. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about my parents, and I don’t know what Hogwarts is or what ‘our world’ is. But if you could just sit down and explain to me, I’m sure I could understand.”

By the time Harry had finished talking, what little of Hagrid’s face could be seen past the hair was a rather unpleasant shade of purple. The man took a bottle from his pocket and took another swig before visibly calming himself. “All right. Have a seat, Harry.” Harry obediently sat down next to Hagrid, munching on a sausage. “Yeh ever done anything yeh couldn’t explain? Anything strange, or bizarre? Something _impossible_?”

“Well, I grew my hair back overnight, and once I accidentally jumped all the way onto the roof of the school’s kitchens,” Harry admitted. “And I accidentally set a snake on Dudley recently.”

Hagrid frowned slightly at the last part. “Well, I’ll lay it out for yeh.”

“Stop!” Vernon commanded, finally finding his balls. “Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!”

The glare Hagrid gave him could have soured milk. “You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An’ you’ve kept it from him all these years?”

“Kept what from me?” said Harry eagerly, trying to escalate the situation as any good miscreant would.

“STOP! I FORBID YOU!” yelled Uncle Vernon in panic. Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

“Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh,” said Hagrid. “Harry — yer a wizard.”

Harry stared at him a moment. “I beg your pardon?”

“A wizard,” Hagrid repeated, fishing around in his coat again. “I reckon it’s about time yeh read yer Hogwarts letter.” As Harry skimmed through it, Hagrid scribbled out the note to Dumbledore Harry vaguely remembered him sending and attached it to a very affronted-looking owl that was unceremoniously chucked out into the storm. “Any questions?” Hagrid asked as he sat back down.

“Quite a few,” Harry said.

Vernon interrupted before Harry could start asking. “He’s not going. We swore when we took him in we’d put a stop to that rubbish,” said Uncle Vernon, “swore we’d stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!”

“You knew?” said Harry. “You knew I’m a — a wizard?”

“Knew!” shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. “Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!” She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. “Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you’d be just the same, just as strange, just as — as —abnormal — and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!”

Harry glared at her. “So you hated her. Was it because she was strange? Or was it because you weren’t? You wanted to go so badly, and couldn’t? That she got the magic, and you didn’t?”

Petunia had gone whiter than usual. “How dare-”

“You told me my parents died in a car crash!” Harry bellowed. “You _lied_ to me!”

“CAR CRASH!” roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. “How could a car crash kill Lily an’ James Potter? It’s an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin’ his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!”

Harry paused. “Every kid knows my name?” Hagrid nodded. “Oh, that doesn’t sound good at all.”

The anger faded from Hagrid’s face. He looked suddenly anxious. “I never expected this,” he said, in a low, worried voice. “I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin’ hold of yeh, how much yeh didn’t know. Ah, Harry, I don’ know if I’m the right person ter tell yeh — but someone’s gotta — yeh can’t go off ter Hogwarts not knowin’.”

“Not knowing _what?_ ” Harry pressed. He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys. “I’m kind of in the dark here. Maybe you could fill me in?”

“Well, it’s best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can’t tell yeh everythin’, it’s a great myst’ry, parts of it…” He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then began. “See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. People don’t like saying his name, they’re still scared o’him. They call him You-Know-Who. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ‘em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ‘cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin’ over. ‘Course, some stood up to him — an’ he killed ‘em. Horribly. One o’ the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore’s the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn’t dare try takin’ the school, not jus’ then, anyway.

“Dumbledore, the bloke who’s the Hogwarts headmaster?” Harry asked, holding up his Hogwarts letter.

“That’s him,” Hagrid replied. “Good man. Taught yer parents. Taught me. Now, yer mum an’ dad were as good a witch an’ wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an’ girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst’ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get ‘em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin’ ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade ‘em… maybe he just wanted ‘em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old.”

“I think I can guess the rest,” Harry said darkly as Hagrid blew his nose.

“Sorry,” he said. “I knew yer mum an’ dad, an’ nicer people yeh couldn’t find. You-Know-Who killed ‘em. An’ then — an’ this is the real myst’ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin’ by then. But he couldn’t do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That’s what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an’ dad an’ yer house, even — but it didn’t work on you, an’ that’s why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill ’em, no one except you, an’ he’d killed some o’ the best witches an’ wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an’ you was only a baby, an’ you lived.”

Harry shuddered. “So…my parents died because of him…and I lived? Why?”

“Nobody knows,” Hagrid replied. “But You-Know-Who vanished. People think he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he’s still out there, bidin’ his time, like, but I don’ believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of ‘em came outta kinda trances. Don’ reckon they could’ve done if he was comin’ back. Most of us reckon he’s still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. ’Cause somethin’ about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin’ goin’ on that night he hadn’t counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin’ about you stumped him, all right. Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore’s orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…”

“Load of old tosh,” Uncle Vernon interrupted, having apparently found his voice again. “Now, you listen here, boy,” he snarled, “I accept there’s something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn’t have cured — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world’s better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they’d come to a sticky end —”

Hagrid made to leap from the sofa again, but Harry beat him to it. “Vernon, please, _shut up_. This man is talking.”

But Vernon wasn’t going to give in without a fight. “Haven’t I told you he’s not going?” he hissed. “He’s going to Stonewall High and he’ll be grateful for it. I’ve read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —”

“If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won’t stop him,” growled Hagrid. “Stop Lily an’ James Potter’s son goin’ ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name’s been down ever since he was born. He’s off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won’t know himself. He’ll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an’ he’ll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled—”

“I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!” Vernon yelled.

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, “NEVER —” he thundered, “— INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!”

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig’s tail poking through a hole in his trousers.

Harry was biting his lip, trying to choke down laughter as Vernon roared and pulled the Dursleys into the other room. Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard. “Shouldn’ta lost me temper,” he said ruefully, “but it didn’t work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn’t much left ter do.”

Harry hugged him. “That was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”

Hagrid paused. “Yer welcome, Harry,” he said thickly after a moment. “Be grateful if yeh didn’t mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts, though. I’m — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin’. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an’ get yer letters to yeh an’ stuff — one o’ the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job.”

“Why aren’t you supposed to do magic?” asked Harry.

“Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an’ everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore.”

Harry looked up at him. “You’re having me on. You got expelled? For what, being too nice and cuddly?”

Hagrid seemed unsure of how to react. “Well, it’s gettin’ late and we’ve got lots ter do tomorrow. Best get some kip.” He shrugged off his coat, draping it around Harry’s shoulders. “Don’ mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o’ doormice in one o’ the pockets.”

—ML—

Harry awoke to an owl tapping on the window, an edition of the Daily Prophet in its beak. “Hold on a moment, I’ll let you right in,” he said softly, poking Hagrid. “Oi, Hagrid, there’s an owl here. With a newspaper. Is this normal?”

“For us, it is,” Hagrid chuckled into the couch. “There’s some change in my coat. Give ‘im five o’ the little bronze ones.” Harry managed to dig out the coins and offered the owl a leftover sausage as he filled the pouch tied to the bird’s leg. The owl was still swallowing its tip as it flew off through the open window.

Hagrid sat up, rubbing at his face. “Best be off, I suppose. We’ll need to go by your vault.”

“I have a vault?” Harry asked innocently.

“Yeh have _two_ , I’m told,” Hagrid said as they packed up. “Yer trust fund, what yer parents left yeh, and the family vault. I don’t think we’d need to go by that.”

“I’d like to,” Harry replied immediately. “I…I don’t have anything from my family.”

Hagrid growled angrily. “Then we’d best be going. I’ll help yeh as best I can.”

“Where is this bank, anyway?” Harry asked as they bailed out the water that had gathered in the boat.

“Gringotts bank,” Hagrid explained. “Yeh’d be mad ter try an’ rob it, I’ll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — ‘cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o’ fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid drew himself up proudly. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you — gettin’ things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see.”

“Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?” Harry asked.

“Spells — enchantments,” said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. “They say there’s dragons guardin’ the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh’d die of hunger tryin’ ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat.”

Harry managed to mask his snort as a sneeze, not letting on that he and two other teenagers had robbed the place successfully, albeit with inside help.

—ML—

The trip to London was rather uneventful, despite Hagrid’s size and general inability to avoid seeing unusual. The Leaky Cauldron was just as dark and grubby as he remembered, and most of the same people were there as well as were every other time he had visited. The two old wizards in the corner had been playing cribbage the last time he had passed through the Cauldron, and didn’t look to have moved in a week from the dust gathering on them. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, “The usual, Hagrid?”

“Can’t, Tom, I’m on Hogwarts business,” said Hagrid, clapping his great hand on Harry’s shoulder and making Harry’s knees buckle.

“Good Lord,” said the bartender, peering at Harry, “is this — can this be —?”

“Uncle Fester?” Harry muttered, looking Tom up and down.

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. “Bless my soul,” whispered the old bartender, “Harry Potter… what an honor.” He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. “Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back.”

It didn’t take nearly as long to get through all the shaking hands again, although he had a hard time looking Quirrell in the eye knowing what he would do. “Was that Professor back there all right?” Harry asked as they exited out the back of the pub.

“Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience… They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”

It was good to see Diagon Alley again, in its prime instead of the wreck it had become during the war. Hagrid easily navigated through the hustle and bustle, Harry following in his wake with his head down.

A faint smile spread across Harry’s face as they entered Gringotts, the goblins hard at work as Hagrid led the way to the counter. “Morning,” Hagrid said pleasantly. “We’ve come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter’s vault. He also wishes to visit the main Potter vault, but I’m afraid he doesn’t have the key for that.” Hagrid managed to fish out the key to Harry’s trust vault – which unbeknownst to him Harry had relocated the night before – and the letter from Dumbledore. “This is about the you-know-what in vault seven hundred and thirteen.”

Harry had half-expected Griphook to show up again, but rather than being taken directly to the vaults, they were whisked through one of the many doors leading off the main hall and asked to wait in an office. Hagrid’s chair squeaked and thickened to accommodate his weight, and their chairs had barely gotten warm before a goblin entered the room.

“Ah, Mister Potter, pleasant to finally see you in person,” the goblin said. “Welcome to Gringotts. I understand you wish to visit your family’s vault.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Harry said. “I understand I’m the last remaining Potter.”

“That’s right, yes,” the goblin replied. “As such, you are essentially emancipated, but up until now decisions regarding your accounts with us have been made by Albus Dumbledore. As he arranged your current living conditions and your parents did not leave a will stipulating otherwise, our reports have been going to him. However, now that you have rejoined the magical world, we will begin sending you the standard monthly statement.”

Harry nodded. “Excellent. You said he’s been making decisions regarding my accounts. Has there been anything unusual done?”

The goblin fished through several statements. “Mr. Dumbledore has made several investments in your name, mostly low-risk ventures that have added a healthy margin to your balance. The standard Hogwarts tuition deduction was made this morning when we received confirmation that you were to attend, and of course the usual taxes have been deducted over the years as part of the Gringotts service.”

“Thank you. Now, since neither of us has a key, how do we go about accessing the main vault? I’m not looking for a financial withdrawal, mostly just to poke around and see if there are any sentimental items I would like to retrieve.”

“We can certainly accommodate you.” He fished around in the desk, pulling out a small inkpad. “Simply press your thumb here, and we can verify your identity. Security reasons, you understand.”

“Of course.” Harry pressed his thumb on the pad, feeling a light suction on his thumb. The boy was stunned to find a spreading red stain on the pad when he pulled away his thumb.

“It pulls a small sample of blood through the pores in your skin. Painless, and very effective.” The goblin put the pad back into his desk, and a small sheet scrolled out. “Your heritage has been verified. You are in fact Harry Potter, last scion of the House of Potter.”

“Good to know I am who my underwear says I am.” Harry saw a slight twitch in the goblin’s face, around the edges of his mouth. Not wanting to embarrass the bank by having one of their tellers actually smile, Harry changed the subject. “Are there any properties that the Potters own in Britain?”

The goblin shuffled to a new document. “Well, in terms of residences, the Potters owned an apartment in Hogsmeade Village, a flat here in Diagon Alley, their residence in Godric’s Hollow,” he looked up, “I believe you’re familiar with that one. And of course, Potter Manor and the surrounding land in Scotland. Now, the _state_ of these properties is…questionable. The apartment in Hogsmeade has been rented to various people for the past seventeen years and has provided a tidy income. The flat in the Alley is vacant. The Godric’s Hollow residence was never rebuilt, and Potter Manor was burned to the ground during the last war. The lands have been held, but as it stands there is no domicile there.” Harry nodded, his chest tightening at the idea of seeing the house his parents had died in or the remnants of their ancestral home. “There are quite a few businesses that the Potter family has interests in, as well, whether through investments or renting space,” the goblin went on.

“No need to run through those now,” Harry said.

“Very well. We’ll make a list available for you to review.” A soft chime sounded, and the goblin opened a desk drawer. “Ah, here we are.” He held up a golden key, similar to the one to Harry’s trust vault. “I would warn you, however, that the vault has not been touched since it was last accessed.”

“Which was when, exactly?” Harry asked.

The goblin paused. “Why, the day after the previous account holders died, of course.”

Harry twitched. “I think we’re done for now,” Hagrid broke in. “Should probably get moving. Lots ter do and all.”

“Of course,” the goblin said. “We’ll have a clerk show you to your vaults.”

The two followed another goblin through the halls towards the vault tracks, and Harry carefully nudged Hagrid. “What’s in vault seven hundred and thirteen?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell yeh that,” Hagrid said. “Very secret Hogwarts business.”

“Oh, Dumbledore must trust you very much, then,” Harry replied confidently.

“He does,” Hagrid nodded. “After all, not many people know what’s in there. It’s just me, him, and Nicholas-” He paused. “I’d best not say any more.”

“Of course,” Harry said, reaching up to pat him on the arm. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. You’re my only friend.” The giant’s eyes were suspiciously watery as they clambered into the cart.

Reasoning that they were safe behind layers of Gringotts wards, Harry took pity on his friend and cast a mild anti-nausea spell he had picked up as they took off. It took more effort than his previous wandless magic ever had, but Hagrid looked far steadier than he had the last time they had taken a trip on a Gringotts cart when they clambered out at Harry’s vault. “Vault 687,” the goblin announced. “Key please.” Hagrid handed it over, and the goblin calmly unlocked the door, stepping out of the way.

“I…wow,” Harry said, still somewhat stunned by how much raw wealth was available to him. He hadn’t visited Gringotts under pleasant circumstances in years, and on his previous visit to his own vault had been in a hurry to get out of there as quickly as possible. “All this is mine?”

“Every Knut,” Hagrid replied with a grin. “Now there’s seventeen Sickles to a Galleon, that’s the gold ones, and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. This ought to be enough fer a couple o’ terms, plus yer kit.” The door closed behind them as they returned to the cart, and the goblin held the key out for Hagrid. “Best yeh keep this for yerself, Harry. Just in case.” Harry pocketed the key, slipping it next to the one for the main Potter vault.

Vault seven hundred and thirteen was as Harry remembered it, and Hagrid tucked the grubby little package deep inside his coat as quickly as possible.

Vault seven hundred and twenty-two was a few stops beyond, and Harry’s heart pounded as he handed the key over to the goblin. The door slid open without a sound, and Harry stepped into a vault almost as roomy as he remembered the Lestrange vault being during their break-in. There were heaps of coins, as he had expected, the amount dwarfing the fortune he had seen in his other vault. But the real value was in what took up the remainder of the vault’s space. Paintings, books, dozens of items that presumably had sentimental value, and countless objects that Harry couldn’t recognize even with his research. He did recognize a few items and made a mental note to retrieve them later. He pocketed a signet ring with a family crest on it, setting aside a pair of mirrors he recognized as well.

“Oh, hello there,” a voice said from under a tarp. “Is someone there?” Harry pulled back the tarp and found an older man staring back at him. “Greetings, young man. I suppose we’re related somehow. Stop by for a chat, or are you in a hurry?”

“I am at the moment, but I could certainly come back,” Harry replied. “I’m Harry Potter. Who might you be?”

The man paused. “Fleamont Potter.” Harry didn’t quite catch the grin in time, and the man scowled. “Yes, yes, get it out of your system.”

“Fleamont?”

“It was my grandmother’s dying wish that her son perpetuate her maiden name. And before you let loose any smart remarks, remember that I went through seven years at Hogwarts fighting people who made fun of my name!”

Harry marshaled his face into a neutral expression. “Of course. Are we directly related? Did you know a James Potter? I’m his son.”

The man scoffed. “James? He’s my boy. Strapping young lad, my pride and joy. Where is he? He ought to be down here now, explaining why he’s taken so long to have us meet. Why, you’re practically Hogwarts age! And his wife! Lovely girl, Lily.” Harry grimaced. Fleamont leaned back slightly. “I see. That is…unfortunate. There was a war on, but I had hoped, of course. I suppose after so long I was only fooling myself. Do you have anyone to look after you?”

“Not…not really,” Harry admitted. “They died about ten years ago.”

“Ten years?” Fleamont sat down hard in the chair behind him, pale. “My goodness. Are you all right? Can an old man do anything to help you?”

Harry smiled in spite of himself. “I…well, not at the moment. But I’ll get back to you. It’s nice to talk with family.”

“Of course, young man. Stop by anytime. And…” Fleamont broke off, looking over Harry’s shoulder. “Hagrid? Rubeus Hagrid? Is that you?”

“Aye, Mr. Potter,” Hagrid said from the door. “Nice ter see yeh again.”

“And you as well, my boy!” Fleamont called. “Good to see you in good health! Keep an eye on Harry for me, would you?”

“I’ll keep both on him,” Hagrid promised. “He’s a good boy.”

“See that you do!”

“Well, we’d best be moving on,” Hagrid said to Harry. “Shall we?”

“Oh, before you go, please cover me up again, I could use a nap,” Fleamont requested as they left.

—ML—

Harry tried not to scowl as he spotted Malfoy getting fitted for his school robes. “Hello,” he said calmly. “Hogwarts, too?”

“Er, yes,” Harry replied, momentarily thrown by the boy’s civility before remembering this Malfoy didn’t know him yet.

“My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,” said the boy. “Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.”

“Be careful, wouldn’t want to get expelled on your first day there,” Harry warned.

The boy snorted. “They wouldn’t dare. Have _you_ got your own broom?”

“No, but I spotted a rather nice one on the way over here,” Harry said, trying not to be too unsettled by the pleasant conversation as Madam Malkin continued her work.

“Play Quidditch at all?”

“Not for a long time,” Harry answered truthfully.

Malfoy shrugged. “Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“No, but I suppose nobody really does until they’re Sorted, do they?” Harry asked.

“I…well, no, that’s true,” Malfoy admitted. “But I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry mused. “Hufflepuffs do have a reputation for not being the brightest candles in the room, but there’s a lot to be said for hard work and loyalty, isn’t there? That’s how you build things.”

Malfoy paused again. “Hm. I suppose.” He looked out the window and his eyes widened, and Harry glanced over, suddenly remembering where Hagrid had been at this point. The giant was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn’t come in. “Who’s he?”

“That’s Hagrid,” said Harry, pleased to know something the boy didn’t. “He works at Hogwarts as the gamekeeper. Good man.”

“Really?” Malfoy asked. “I heard he’s a sort of _savage_ — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed.”

“Well, from what I’ve seen of people getting drunk, everything seems like a great idea when you’ve tied one on,” Harry said. “And I’d guess that doing magic while you’re pissed is tough. Besides, not everyone can live in manors, right? Otherwise there wouldn’t be anything special about them.” Malfoy was silent, clearly trying to come up with a response.

“Why is he with you?” Malfoy finally asked. “Where are your parents?”

“My parents are dead,” said Harry shortly. “He’s been helping me with getting my stuff.”

“Oh, sorry,” said the other, not sounding sorry at all. “But they were _our_ kind, weren’t they? I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families.”

Harry forced a smile. “Actually, I was born to a witch and a wizard, but if you go by all the old nonsense I’m a half-blood. After my parents died, I was raised in the Muggle world. Hadn’t heard of Hogwarts until yesterday.” The boy paled. “I didn’t catch your name, actually. I’m Harry Potter.” Malfoy paled further.

“That’s you done, my dear,” Madam Malkin interjected before Malfoy could answer.

“I suppose I’ll see you at Hogwarts,” Harry said, hopping down off the stool.

The two dug into the ice cream as they walked away from the robes shop, Hagrid easily hefting the packages. The half-giant looked down at Harry’s frown and tilted his head. “What’s up?”

Harry sighed, wiping a smear of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “That idiot back there. Talked bad about Muggles, wizards from Muggle families, and you. I might have hit him if he’d kept going.”

“Ah, don’t fass yerself over that,” Hagrid sighed. “There’s a lot o’ wizards and witches out there, think they’re better because their parents or grandparents or however far back were our folk. Think bein’ born from Muggle parents is some kinda sin.”

“They sound like idiots.”

“They are,” Hagrid said fiercely. “Well I’ll tell you, Harry, yer mum was as Muggle-born as they come, and your father was as pure-blood as they come, and neither one o’ them would have heard a bad word about Muggles or Muggle-borns. Lily was a good friend ter me, and one o’ the finest witches Hogwarts has seen in years. Yer blood’s got nothing ter do with what kind o’ wizard yeh’ll turn out to be.”

Harry paused mid-lick, looking up at Hagrid. “Hagrid, I don’t mean to be rude, but were both your parents human?” Hagrid flushed. “Oh, I mean… I didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just you’re the largest person I’ve ever seen, and…”

“Suppose you’d find out sooner or later,” Hagrid mumbled. “Me mum was a giant. Me da’ was human, though.”

“Your mum was a giant?” Harry asked, his eyes wide. “That’s so cool!” Hagrid stared at him. “Did you know her? What are giants like? Are there many around? Do you have siblings?” Harry’s semi-feigned childlike enthusiasm and fountains of questions seemed to lift the big man’s spirits as they finished their ice cream, made stops at various shops along the Alley, and approached Ollivander’s.

“Let’s see here,” Hagrid mumbled, checking the list. “Ah, just yer want left…and I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

Harry shuffled nervously. “You don’t have to, Hagrid.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Hagrid scoffed. “But I _want_ to. Tell yeh what, I’ll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh’d be laughed at — an’ I don’ like cats, they make me sneeze. I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer mail an’ everythin’.”

It didn’t take long to reach Eeylops, and it took Harry less than twenty seconds to spot Hedwig among the others. “Her,” he said. “She’s beautiful.”

“Oh, the snowy one?” Hagrid asked. “She’s right pretty, at that. Look at those eyes. Probably smarter than I am, too.” The owl snuffled, shuffling into the cage without complaint as Hagrid counted out the coin.

Ollivander’s was just as quiet, dusty, and mysterious as it had always been. Harry waited quietly, assuming that the wandmaker took some measure of enjoyment in surprising his customers.

They didn’t have to wait long, and Ollivander’s dusty voice sounded a minute later. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello there,” Harry replied calmly.

Ollivander frowned slightly, clearly unsettled by Harry’s lack of shock at his sudden appearance. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter.” It wasn’t a question. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.” He moved closer, still not blinking. “Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it — it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

“So there’s really no link between the wizard and what kind of wand they’ll use?” Harry asked.

“Well, not precisely. Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand. So it is difficult, at times, to predict what sort of a wand a wizard will use.”

“That must make things difficult.”

“But worth the trouble,” Ollivander replied primly. “Unfortunately…” He gestured at Harry’s forehead. “I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did that,” he said softly. “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…” He shook his head. “I’d have crushed it to dust myself.” He spotted Hagrid, having somehow missed the giant in the tiny shop thus far. “Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn’t it?”

“It was, sir, yes,” said Hagrid.

“Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?” said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.

“Er — yes, they did, yes,” said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. “I’ve still got the pieces, though,” he added brightly.

“But you don’t _use_ them?” said Mr. Ollivander sharply.

“Oh, no, sir,” said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

“Hmmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid a piercing look. “Well, now — Mr. Potter. Let me see.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Er — well, I’m right-handed,” said Harry, thrown by the sudden shift back to him.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. He stepped away, the tape measure continuing its work on its own. The elderly man was taking down boxes from the shelves, and Harry diligently took each one and gave it a wave until Ollivander handed him the one he recognized. Harry was unable to hide his grin as he felt the warmth rushing up his arm at being reunited with his wand, giving it a wave and sending a stream of sparks flittering through the air. “Oh, that’s the ticket. Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…”

He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious… curious…”

“Sorry,” said Harry, trying to oblige him, “but _what’s_ curious?”

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.” Harry swallowed hard. “Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”

They paid and left without further incident, and as Hagrid put Harry on the train home and handed him his ticket for the Hogwarts Express, Harry carefully slipped out the other side of the train, heading back towards Diagon Alley.

There was work to be done.

—ML—

The flat may have been vacant, but the lock opened easily as Harry stepped inside, setting Hedwig’s cage down. “Sit tight a moment, girl, I’ll let you right out,” Harry promised. The owl snuffled, mid-cleaning as Harry dropped the rest of his packages onto the sheet-covered couch and quickly explored the flat. The flat was comfortably furnished, and while it needed a cleaning it clearly had seen some careful maintenance from its previous occupant. Harry set his owl’s cage on a table, opening the wire door and the window. “All right, girl, I’m going to call you Hedwig. You can go hunt for tonight or wait here, but I’ll be making sausages and bacon in the morning.” The owl’s eyes widened, and she snuffled quietly as Harry set to work cleaning.

—ML—

The next month took longer than Harry had expected. The next morning, Harry had left out a plate of bacon for Hedwig and had wandered through Diagon Alley and into London, picking up a set of higher-level textbooks that he remembered looking through prior to The Trip, as he had come to refer to it mentally. He had exchanged the standard trunk he had procured for a higher-priced one that had a series of small, magically shielded and concealed compartments in it that he could store items that needed to be kept secret in…like, say, a Horcrux. In London, he had picked up newer clothes, a spare pair of glasses, and several sets of contacts. _At the least, I’ll be able to go through the more dangerous situations without worrying about breaking my glasses. One less thing to worry about. Now I only have to deal with evil wizards, giant spiders and basilisks, werewolves, and evil teachers. Sounds like a rich secondary school experience._ A prepaid mobile phone had been pricier, but he had a sneaking suspicion it would prove helpful during the summers, even if it was useless at Hogwarts. He had mailed Vernon a letter detailing his intention to never return, and then set to work.

Despite being unable to use magic, Harry began training his body, working out in the apartment and practicing his Occlumency. In between reading ahead to refresh himself on the first-year tasks he would have to do, he made multiple trips to Gringotts, retrieving a few paintings and several other items he had a feeling would be helpful. His research before The Jump had never included a visit to Gringotts – after the heist, Harry had been less than welcome at the bank.

It was mid-August by the time the boy found something that he felt would make a real difference. He had been digging through the Potter vault, ignoring any textbook that he could recognize the name of, and had found a hardened case containing several memory strands and a Pensieve. The wizard’s eyes had bugged out when he saw the label reading “For Harry” on a bundle of the strands, and he had immediately grabbed the lot of it and retreated to his flat.

Harry set the Pensieve on the coffee table and quickly sorted out the strands, finding one labeled “From Mom,” and another “From Dad.” Dropping the memory strand from his mother in first, Harry consulted the pamphlet that had been in the case with the Pensieve and manipulated several runes on the edge of the bowl. A miniature version of his late mother rose from the bowl, speaking softly.

“Harry, I hope you never have to see this memory,” Lily Potter said. “But in this world, you never know. If James…” She paused, swallowing hard. “If James is gone as well, know that we both love you more than anything.” Harry watched silently, blinking hard to stave off tears. “But you’re not alone. Sirius should be with you. He’s a good man, but don’t ever tell him I said that. Remus Lupin should be around too. Now, I hope we had the time to raise you right, but just in case – he’s a werewolf, yes. But he’s also one of the finest men I’ve ever met, even if he is grumpy around the full moon. Don’t hate him for what he suffers from, Harry. Peter should be around as well. We’re planning to hide out under a Fidelius Charm, and Peter’s to be our Secret-Keeper. Your father wanted Sirius, but Sirius felt that would too obvious. Now, hopefully this won’t be a problem by the time you see this message, but there’s a prophecy about you. I didn’t hear the exact wording, but it pits you against the Dark Lord. I never wanted this for you, Harry. Neither did James. He was furious when he heard about the prophecy. Not just with Dumbledore, but with himself.” She shook her head. “Silly man. Said that his actions were what made you fit that prophecy. Harry, if Voldemort is still out there, you’re going to have to be strong. I would never want you in harm’s way, but Voldemort will come looking for you if he’s still alive.” She glanced off to the side. “I need to wrap this up. I’ll always love you, Harry. Goodbye.” She blew him a kiss, and the memory ended.

“Thanks, mum,” Harry said quietly, ignoring the tears trickling down his face. He started his father’s message a few moments later.

James wasn’t as collected as his father was. “Hi, Harry,” James said quietly, his eyes clearly red from crying. “I…I hope one day I can show you this message and we can all have a good laugh about it. But if you’re seeing this without me, without your mother…” He paused, taking off his glasses and wiping angrily at his eyes. “Then there’s a lot you need to know. First off, I love you. Your mother loves you. We’d do anything for you and we would never have left you without parents if we had the choice. Second, you’re not alone. Sirius had better be there, or I’ll come back and kick his butt until Hell won’t-” he broke off, glanced to the side, and nodded, before turning back to Harry. “Sorry. Remus should be around as well. They both adore you as much as we do. If we’re gone, though, Peter probably needs help. He’s our Secret-Keeper, Harry. Unless he tells someone, there’s no way for them to find us.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why your mother has so much faith in Dumbledore’s Fidelius Charm. I respect him, don’t get me wrong, but lately he seems like he’s not seeing people as much as chess pieces anymore. Can’t blame him, there’s a ruddy war on, and he’s got the lives of everyone-” He paused again and sighed. “Yes, Lils, I know. I know. Look, son, if we’re not around, we’ve done what we can to make sure you’re comfortable. Sirius is your godfather. He’ll take care of you, no matter what. And I know it doesn’t mean much, but we’ve left you enough so you’ll never have to work a day in your life. If we took Lord Arseface with us, celebrate. If he’s is still around…you may have to fight. You should never have had to deal with this, son. But this is how things are. I love you, Harry. Good luck in the times ahead, and don’t forget that we’ll always be with you.”

It took twenty minutes to stop crying. Harry blew his nose, scrubbing his face clean with a handkerchief.

“You really are the last of us, aren’t you,” Fleamont asked quietly from his portrait against the wall once Harry had cleaned himself up.

“Looks that way,” Harry replied. “I…I don’t know if there are any other Potters. Sirius Black is in prison. He was convicted – wrongfully, it seems – of betraying my parents and murdering Peter Pettigrew. I don’t know where Remus Lupin is.”

“You’re not alone, my boy,” Fleamont reassured him. “You have evidence that could exonerate Sirius. He’s a good boy, always been a wonderful friend to James. You even have a place for him here.” He paused. “And you have me as well. I may be old, but I can still wrassle with the best of them!”

Harry gave the man a smile, feeling fresh tears coming. “Thanks, Grandad.”

Fleamont beamed. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be called that!”

—ML—

One week before the end of August, Harry spotted a familiar face in Diagon Alley. He managed to catch up to her outside of Flourish and Blotts, the girl coming out with a stack of books almost as large as she was. “Oh, pardon me,” he said bumping into her deliberately. She teetered, dropping a handful of textbooks. “Oh, how clumsy of me, let me help you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Hermione replied, setting down the stack. “Aren’t you a little young to be walking around the Alley on your own?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Harry pointed out with a disarming grin.

“I’m not alone,” Hermione said primly, although her cheeks pinked slightly at Harry’s grin.

“Ah, another upcoming first-year?” A voice asked. Harry glanced up to see Professor McGonagall standing over them. Her eyes narrowed, then widened in recognition.

“Indeed I am,” Harry replied. “Are you a Hogwarts professor?”

“Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration professor,” she said, holding out a hand.

Harry took it, giving her a firm handshake. “Harry Potter, at your service, Professor. Sorry, just had a bit of a collision here with…I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Hermione,” the girl said quietly. “Hermione Granger.”

“With Hermione, here,” Harry went on, giving the girl another smile and receiving a shy one in return. “I’ve already got my things for Hogwarts. Did you mind some company?”

Harry could see a brief war waging itself inside McGonagall’s head. She knew he shouldn’t be alone in the Alley _now_ , when Hagrid had gotten him his school things weeks earlier, but she couldn’t leave either one alone. And the boy could tell she wanted to see him, the same strict maternal care that McGonagall prized winning out. “Very well, Mister Potter, if you would accompany us?”

Harry gave her a grin, and the woman’s face softened slightly. “Gladly. To answer your question, Hermione, I’m only eleven, yes. I live here in the Alley, though.” McGonagall gave a quiet gasp of surprise behind them. “I…see, my parents…” He paused. “I’m an orphan, really.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Hermione said immediately.

Harry shrugged. “They died when I was a baby, so I’ve had time to come to terms with it. I used to live with my aunt and uncle, but they…they’re Muggles, you see, and they aren’t really…tolerant, of our world.” Hermione nodded, but Harry could see McGonagall’s lips thinning out of the corner of his eye. “So I moved out. My family owned a flat here in the Alley, and I’m taking care of myself pretty well. Are you Muggle-born?”

“How did you know?” Hermione asked.

Harry tapped his nose knowingly. “Hagrid – he’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, you see – took me to get my things, and mentioned that Muggle-born students get accompanied to the Alley their first time so they don’t get lost.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a friend. “Oh, are you Muggle-born too?”

Harry rocked a hand back and forth. “Sort of? My parents were both magical, but my mother was Muggle-born like you. I was raised outside the magical world.” The two continued the ‘getting to know you’ ritual as McGonagall purchased Hermione a trunk and they stowed away her books.

Harry paused outside the Magical Menagerie, looking in. “Say, Hermione, are you a cat person?”

—ML—

“And you can use my owl any time,” Harry promised as they reached the door of his flat, ignoring the growling coming from Crookshanks’ carrier. “Well, provided you bribe her with some bacon first. She’s bringing home dead mice constantly, but she’s also got a growing addiction to pork. I’m worried one of these days I’ll come home and find she’s got an entire pig through the window somehow.” Hermione giggled as Harry opened the door.

His flat was neatly organized, well-furnished, and beyond a takeout box on the table was spotless. McGonagall had asked to see it out of concern, but seemed unable to find fault with Harry’s housekeeping. “Ah, hello there,” Fleamont called from the wall where Harry had finally gotten around to hanging him up. “Wait a tic, Minnie, is that you?” He winked rakishly at her. “As foxy as ever!”

McGonagall blushed. “Why, Fleamont Potter! What if Euphemia heard you?”

Euphemia Potter stuck her head in the corner of the frame, having traveled from her own portrait. “Why Minerva! Don’t you remember-”

“Yes, thank you, not here,” McGonagall said loudly as Hermione and Harry fought back giggles. “I was merely checking up on Mr. Potter’s living conditions, last I heard he was living with his aunt and uncle.”

“Ah, yes, _them_ ,” Fleamont replied darkly. “You know me, Minerva, I’m a fair-minded man, but if those Muggles are half as bad as Harry has told me…” He growled. “Let’s just say I’m glad he’s here. We keep after him to keep himself clean and fed, but he hardly needs it.”

Harry poked his head out of the kitchen. “The Dursleys had me cooking and cleaning for them, I learned fast. Anyone fancy a cuppa?”

“Actually, we had best be going,” McGonagall said. “Ms. Granger here needs to get home.”

“Of course,” Harry replied with a nod. “Drop by sometime, I’ll let you two catch up.”

McGonagall looked warily at him, before nodding. “Very well.” Hermione took a firm grip on her things, McGonagall took a firm grip of Hermione’s hand, and with a crack they Apparated away.

“Well, that ball’s rolling,” Harry said softly. “I just hope this works.”

—ML—

September first finally came, and Harry was ready to leave an hour before he needed to. He had called a cab through a tip from Gringotts and tossed a handful of Galleons on the front seat.

“All yours if you can get me to King’s Cross Station in London in less than half an hour, without getting us pulled over.” The cabbie gave him a grin and hit the gas, throwing Harry back in the seat.

Twenty-two minutes later, the car screeched to a stop outside King’s Cross Station and Harry lurched out of the backseat, fighting the urge to projectile vomit all over the curb. The cabbie got out and calmly unloaded his trunk and Hedwig’s cage as Harry steadied himself and spoke in a hoarse voice. “Well, you better be going. I think the cops might take a while to figure out where you went after you took that shortcut through Stonehenge, but that won’t last forever.”

The cabbie nodded. “Well, it might take them a bit longer to figure it out if you hadn’t been screaming the whole way.” The cabbie stopped and gave him a long look. “Look kid, I know who you are. My name’s William Matthews, but my friends call me Billy.” He held out a small card. “You ever need my help, just ask.” As the cabbie drove away, Harry palmed the card and examined it. On one side was a Muggle phone number, but on the reverse side was a note- “Just stick your thumb out. I’ll be there.” Harry slid the card into his back pocket and walked into King’s Cross Station, still swaying slightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry checked his watch, taking another bite of his burger. His trunk and Hedwig’s cage were on a trolley next to him, and the young man momentarily congratulated himself on picking a spot where he could see almost everyone coming into the station. A flash of red hair momentarily distracted him, but it wasn’t the Weasley family, merely a railway worker on a break.

The Boy-Who-Lived finished his food and began heading towards the platform, glancing at the clock. He vaguely remembered first encountering the Weasleys minutes before the train was supposed to leave, but King’s Cross was a large station. The changes he had made already might have made the Weasleys arrive earlier or later. Ron might already be on –

“Mom, can’t I go?” a voice asked.

“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet,” Mrs. Weasley said. “All right, Percy, you go first.” Harry didn’t hide his grin as Percy marched towards the platform divider, and began moving towards the barrier himself. Fred and George passed with the byplay he remembered, and he followed George in, the twins not noticing him as they moved towards the train. Harry carefully positioned himself, adjusting Hedwig’s cage and waiting.

Sure enough, a few moments later Ron came sailing through at a run, his eyes bugging out comically as he spotted Harry directly in the way. The two trunks crashed into each other, and Hedwig squawked indignantly as she was jostled around inside her cage. Ron’s trunk went skidding to the floor, and Harry grunted as he was knocked to the ground by the impact.

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” Ron said, offering Harry a hand. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sorry for blocking the path,” Harry replied, taking Ron’s hand and letting the boy pull him to his feet. “First time.”

“Me too,” Ron said sheepishly as Molly and Ginny appeared behind him.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“Oh, my fault,” Harry said. “It’s my first time, I was just standing here and he came through. I shouldn’t have just stopped there. Here, let me help you.” The two wrestled Ron’s trunk back onto the trolley. “I’m sorry, I was just shocked by…” He gestured at the platform. “All this.”

“First time is always a shock, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, carefully guiding them out of the way as more students came through. “We’d best get you two on the train, then.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “Come on, let’s find a compartment together, yeah? The end of the train is probably empty.” The two hustled their belongings onto the Hogwarts Express, Harry spotting Neville’s toad and quickly scooping the critter into a pocket of his coat. The two tucked themselves away in the compartment, and Harry stretched, working out a kink in his shoulder. “Well, that’s done. I never caught your name.”

“Ron,” the boy introduced himself. “Ron Weasley.”

“Harry Potter.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “I…really? Wow.”

Harry shrugged. “All right, get it out of your system.”

“Have you really got the…you know?” Harry raked back his bangs, revealing the scar that had made him famous. “So that’s where You-Know-Who…?”

“So I’m told,” Harry admitted. “I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else. I was just a baby, after all.” Ron was staring. “Easy, Ron, I’m just a kid like you.”

“You might be a kid, but you’re not like me,” Ron replied quietly.

Harry snorted. “Ron, I was raised in the Muggle world with my aunt and uncle – horrible people, by the way, I’m never going back. Until a month ago, I didn’t even know magic existed. Honestly, I’d give anything to have three wizard brothers.”

“Five,” Ron said, his face gloomy. “I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts.”

“I…wow,” Harry replied. “Sounds like a lot to live up to.”

Ron nodded. “Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat.”

“Wait, you’ve got your brother’s old wand?” Harry asked. “Doesn’t that mean that’s going to hold you back? You can’t use someone else’s wand as well as one meant for you.”

“Yeah, but they couldn’t aff – I mean, there wasn’t time.”

Harry paused. “I…all right. That still sounds like a bad idea. Maybe we can figure out some way to get you a proper wand.” Ron shrugged, and Harry pressed on. “I mean, I know it can be tough. Until a month ago, I never had any money at all. I had to wear my cousin’s old clothes. I never got a birthday present until this year. And until Hagrid told me, I didn’t know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort —”

Ron gasped.

“What?” said Harry.

“You said You-Know-Who’s name!” said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. “I’d have thought you, of all people —”

“I’m not trying to be brave or anything, saying the name,” said Harry, “I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn. I bet I’m the worst in the class.”

“You won’t be. There’s loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough.”

Harry shrugged. “So, you’re looking to make your own path?”

Ron looked confused. “Eh?”

“You said your brothers have all done well. Lot of pressure there. Are you trying to make a name for yourself in your own way, then?”

Ron considered the point. “I suppose, yeah.”

“Well, as much as you want to stand out from your family, that’s how much I’d like to blend in,” Harry replied. “When Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley, people kept trying to shake my hand and thank me for stuff I didn’t even know I did. Whatever money my parents left me, whatever fame I have, I’d trade it in a second to have my family back.”

Ron fell silent, clearly considering the point. “That sounds like a rough go of it, mate.”

“Well, I’ve made a couple friends,” Harry admitted. “Hagrid – he’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, good bloke – took me to get my things, and bought me Hedwig, my owl. I don’t have anyone to write to, so if you want to use her, just let me know.”

Ron’s face darkened. “You don’t have _anyone_?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m…used to being alone.”

The boy scowled. “Not anymore, Harry.” He stuck out his hand. “Mates?”

“Mates,” Harry said with a grin, shaking hands. “I met one of the professors, too, McGonagall. She teaches Transfiguration, I think, and heads Gryffindor house.”

“My family’s all been in Gryffindor,” Ron said. “I’ll probably wind up there too.”

“She was taking a girl, a Muggleborn, to get her things. Hermione Granger. Seemed nice enough, but I think she was afraid she wouldn’t fit in. Tended to be bossy about things.”

“Well, she’s welcome to be friends with us too,” Ron said. “Look, I may have too many brothers, but nobody should be alone.”

Harry swallowed hard. “I appreciate that, mate. I’m not _completely_ alone, I’ve apparently got an honorary uncle named Remus who’s out there someplace, but nobody knows where he is.” Harry paused. “My godfather’s in prison.”

“Prison?” Ron asked, going pale. “Why?”

Harry sighed. “He’s Sirius Black.” Ron stared at him, clearly not understanding. “All right. When I was in Diagon Alley getting my things, I visited my parent’s vault at Gringotts. Found some old memories and stuff. I went and looked things up afterwards. Turns out, Sirius was accused of turning my parents over to V – You-Know-Who, and killing a friend of theirs along with a dozen Muggles. He’s been in Azkaban ever since.” Harry chose his words carefully, conscious of the fact that Scabbers was in Ron’s pocket.

“That’s awful,” Ron said quietly.

“It is what it is,” Harry replied carefully. “We’ve both got a lot to deal with.” He gave Ron a wry grin. “But we’re not dealing with it alone.”

A visit from the lady with the snack cart later, the two were tucking into the small hoard of sweets and snacks Harry had purchased, the corned beef sandwiches still tucked away. The two were working their way through the Chocolate Frogs when Neville arrived. Harry had to hide his flinch as the image of the boy lying dead filled his mind.

“Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?” Neville asked.

Harry patted down his pockets. “Actually, I saw one hopping around back on the platform, and I snagged him so he wouldn’t get squashed.” He pulled out the toad, and Neville’s eyes widened.

“Trevor!” He pulled him close. “He keeps getting away from me!”

Harry shrugged. “You want to join us?”

“I…sure,” Neville said hesitantly, claiming an empty section of seat next to Harry. “I’m Neville Longbottom.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry replied. “That’s Ron Weasley. Good bloke. Likes to wrestle giants in his spare time. I’m Harry Potter. I’m illiterate. Ron reads to me.”

Whether it was Harry’s description of Ron, or Harry’s description of himself that threw Neville off, Harry wasn’t sure, but Neville stared at the two of them for a long moment, before his eyes flicked to the door. “He’s kidding,” Ron finally said, his face bright red from choking back laughter. “I mean, the names are right, but I don’t wrestle giants, and he can read.”

“Oh,” Neville said faintly.

“I wrestle _dragons_ ,” Ron said proudly. “And Harry was raised by hippogriffs.” The boy smiled faintly, before glancing Harry up and down.

“So you really are…”

“Yes, I’m Harry Potter,” Harry sighed. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but I don’t remember anything about that night, and I didn’t know I was famous or that magic even existed until I got my Hogwarts letter.”

“Oh.” Neville considered that for a moment, before shrugging. “Fair enough.” He looked to Ron. “Your mum’s Molly Weasley?” Ron nodded. “My gran hates her.” Ron’s face darkened. “Says she deliberately outdid her in some cooking contest just to annoy her. Took it personally.” The boy choked on a bite of chocolate frog as he laughed, and Neville grinned.

The compartment door slid open, and Harry fought back a grin as he spotted the mop of bushy brown hair in the door. “Has anyone seen a toad?”

Neville raised his hand, Trevor watching mournfully from the boy’s fist. “I found him!”

“Hermione, good to see you again,” Harry said. “Ron, this is the girl I told you about. Hermione, this is Ron Weasley, he wrestles dragons in his spare time. Ron, this is Hermione Granger. Her parents are professional assassins.”

“My parents are dentists!” Hermione retorted, scandalized.

“What’s a dentist?” Ron asked. Hermione looked horrified.

“Relax,” Harry said soothingly. “Wizards and witches have a much lower rate of health problems, especially when it comes to teeth.” He turned to Ron and Neville. “Dentists are Muggle healers, specifically regarding the mouth. It involves rearranging people’s teeth with wires and drills and special potions that they use, and knives they use to scrape teeth.” Now Neville and Ron looked horrified, and Harry looked triumphantly at Hermione. “And you’re telling me that your parents _don’t_ have what it takes to be assassins?”

Hermione paused. “I…well…” She scratched her chin, plopping into a seat next to Ron. “Hm.”

Neville looked particularly terrified. “So do the Muggles have to be hunted down, or does the government assign you targets?”

Hermione squinted at him for a bit. “They volunteer,” she said eventually, smiling wickedly. Neville shivered.

“Licorice wand?” Harry asked, holding one out. She shrugged, unwrapping the sweet and nibbling on the end.

“So what are you two coming to Hogwarts for?” Harry asked. Neville and Hermione stared at him in confusion. “There’s not much for me in the Muggle world, and Ron has a big family and is looking to stand out on his own. How about you? What made you come to Hogwarts?”

Hermione and Neville looked at each other shyly, waiting for the other to go first. “I guess it was just expected of me,” Neville finally said. “My Gran raised me, she’s a witch, but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad.”

Ron had shrugged, but Harry and Hermione were staring at him, openmouthed. Harry had forgotten that story, and Neville had never brought it up again. “I beg your pardon?” Hermione finally managed. “Your uncle tried to drown you?”

“Did…didn’t someone _do_ something about that?” Harry asked. “I…what the fuck, Neville?”

“Harry!” Hermione gasped.

Harry shook himself, having slipped back into his seventeen-year-old mindset. “Sorry. What the frick, Neville? Your family tried to kill you!” The boy looked uncomfortable, and Harry frowned. “Look, whatever you feel you have to live up to, ignore it. You’re your own man, Neville, you don’t owe anybody anything. That goes for you too, Ron. Don’t go out of your way to please professors or anyone else. The only person you have to be better than is who you are right now.”

“I guess,” Neville said after a moment.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause, before Harry looked to Hermione. “How about you? What brings you to Hogwarts?”

“I…I just want to learn about magic,” Hermione admitted, the words spilling out. “Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard — I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough.”

Neville and Ron were staring at her, befuddled. Harry looked at her sadly. “Hermione, you’re afraid you won’t fit in, aren’t you. That this is some all big joke.” Hermione didn’t say anything, but nodded after a pause. “That’s how I felt, too. But I don’t think the magical world is much different from the one you and I know.” Everyone raised an eyebrow at that. “Look, Muggle or magical, there’s prejudices, social divisions, good and bad people. Hermione, you’re going to be looked down on by people simply because your parents aren’t magical. I’m apparently famous because of something that _I can’t even remember_. From what I’ve been told, Hufflepuffs are all dimwits, but considering they’re supposed to prize hard work and loyalty, it may just be that they just keep quiet about getting things done. Gryffindors are supposed to be fools who leap before they look, but look at us. We’re all scared, and we’re all here.”

“Good thing none of us is scared alone,” Neville chimed in.

Harry gave him a warm smile. “Darn right. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if we all wound up in Gryffindor. Takes a special kind of brave – or a special kind of stupid – to keep going when you’re scared.”

“Well, whatever House or Houses we wind up in, I hope we all can be friends.” Hermione declared.

“I think that’s pretty much settled,” Neville said.

“Friends?” Harry asked, holding out his hand.

Hermione took it. “Friends.”

Ron’s hand landed on top. “Mates. Sorry, you two are stuck with me.”

Neville shook his head with a grin, before adding his hand onto the pile. “Friends.” He glanced over at Ron. “Do you really wrestle dragons?”

Naturally, that was the moment Malfoy showed up. Harry had always had trouble remembering whether the boy had introduced himself properly on the train or when they were already at Hogwarts, waiting to be sorted. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him.

“So you really are Harry Potter, aren’t you,” Malfoy said quietly. “You weren’t kidding back at the Alley.”

Harry stared at him. “Do you really think many people go around claiming to be Harry Potter?” He glanced at Crabbe and Goyle. “Do these blokes talk at all?”

“Eh? Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle,” Malfoy said carelessly. “I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. I’m Draco Malfoy.”

To his credit, Ron didn’t snigger this time. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the name, and Neville narrowed his eyes even as he tried to avoid eye contact with any of the newcomers. “What brings you here, Draco?” Harry asked diplomatically.

“Well, I wanted to introduce myself,” Malfoy replied. “Be polite and all that. Give you a friend in the right place. After all, you’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.” As he spoke, he looked over the other occupants of the compartment, apparently finding them wanting.

Harry shrugged. “Look, from what I’ve seen so far, the only ‘wrong sort’ are the ones who think they’re better than everyone else because of who their family is. You seem like a bright enough bloke, Draco, so answer me this. How exactly does your family being pureblooded for however many generations make you any better than anyone else? Does it make your magic stronger? Does it make you smarter?” Malfoy didn’t answer. “I don’t want to make an enemy out of you, Draco, but I don’t think we agree on a lot of things. I’m sorry.”

“Your loss,” the boy said coldly. “C’mon. I don’t like the smell in here.” Crabbe and Goyle followed him silently.

“What a ponce,” Harry growled as the door closed. “Remember how I said you’d be facing prejudices, Hermione? That’s one of them. Idiots like Malfoy think that they’re better than others because his father’s rich and his parents and grandparents were all magical.”

“I’ve heard of his family,” Ron said darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.”

“They’re blood purists, all right,” Neville agreed. “A lot of You-Know-Who’s followers were just like them. Mostly Slytherins, too.”

"He’s a Death Eater," Harry told Hermione quietly. "One of Voldemort’s supporters. Oh, come on, you two, it’s a ruddy name.” He looked back to Hermione.

"Then why didn't they arrest Mr. Malfoy, if he was a Death Eater?" Hermione asked.

“Money,” Harry replied. “He claimed he had been placed under a mind-control curse, made a few hefty donations, and got cleared.”

"Bribery?" Hermione asked scandalously.

"Get used to it," Harry advised her. “As for the houses? Slytherins get a bad rep. I read up on the Houses. They’re supposed to prize ambition and cunning. People who would be more likely to go Dark are typically more ambitious and self-interested than anything else, so they get lumped into Slytherin.” Ron seemed unconvinced, but Hermione was deep in thought, until she glanced out the window.

“Oh, dear, it’s getting dark,” she realized. “We’d best change into our school robes. We’re probably almost there.”

The quartet quickly shuffled off jackets and jumpers and pulled on their school robes, Harry focusing hard and managing a nonverbal spell that lengthened and neatened Ron’s hand-me-down robes slightly. As they finished, a voice echoed through the train. “We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.”

Ron, Neville, and Harry divvied up the last of the goodies between them as Hermione rolled her eyes. He managed to subtly herd his new old friends towards where he vaguely remembered Hagrid coming from as they emerged onto the platform, the giant and his lamp calling all first years over.

“My goodness, he is a big one,” Hermione blurted out, before clapping a hand over her mouth.

“Relax, Hagrid’s one of the good guys,” Harry said, loud enough for the big man to hear.

Hagrid grinned behind his beard. “All right there, Harry?”

“Doing good, thanks,” Harry replied. “Everyone, this is Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Hagrid, this is Hermione Granger, another first-year. She’s only humoring us, she’s really already learned everything there is to learn at Hogwarts.” Hermione blushed, shuffling her feet. “Neville Longbottom, semi-professional toad racer. And that’s Ron Weasley over there. He wrestles dragons for fun.”

Hagrid paused, before shrugging. “Well, every year at Hogwarts brings a few odd ducks. Good ter meet yeh all. Come on, then.” Slipping and stumbling, the first-years followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. “Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,” Hagrid called over his shoulder, “jus’ round this bend here.”

There was a loud “Oooooh!” as the narrow path opened suddenly onto the edge of the Black Lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

“Hey, honey, I’m home,” Harry whispered.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Harry and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione, and Harry quickly cast another silent spell, temporarily immobilizing Trevor in Neville’s pocket.

“Everyone in?” shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. “Right then — FORWARD!” And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood. “Heads down!” yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles. The first-years followed Hagrid through a passageway in the rock, emerging onto smooth grass outside the castle, and Hagrid knocked on the door.

The door swung open at once, and Harry carefully suppressed another flinch as he spotted McGonagall on the other side. “The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.”

She pulled the door wide and the first-years followed her to a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor McGonagall said. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.” Harry smiled faintly as he recalled how nervous he had been when he had first heard this speech. “The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin,” McGonagall continued. “Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.”

Harry glanced over, spotting Neville’s cloak somehow fastened under his right ear and the smudge still present on Ron’s nose. Hermione was nervously smoothing down her skirt, and Harry made a half-hearted attempt to flatten his hair before shrugging.

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” said Professor McGonagall. “Please wait quietly.”

As she left the chamber, Neville glanced over at Ron, straightening his cloak. “How exactly do they sort us into houses?” he asked Ron.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

Harry smiled faintly, but kept to himself, closing his eyes and waiting patiently. Then several people behind him screamed, and Harry had drawn his wand, turned, and was halfway through casting a silent Stunning Spell when he realized that the ghosts of Hogwarts had made their first appearance. The Fat Friar was talking to Nearly-Headless Nick. “Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —”

“My dear Friar, haven’t we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he’s not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?” Nick paused, spotting the first-years.

“We’re new in town,” Harry said easily when nobody else spoke up. “Good evening!”

“New students!” said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. “About to be Sorted, I suppose?” A few people nodded mutely. “Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know.”

“Oh, come now,” Nearly-Headless Nick scoffed. “Gryffindor would do them well!”

The two ghosts moved on, bickering good-naturedly as McGonagall returned, leading them into the Great Hall and placing the Sorting Hat in its traditional spot. The Sorting Hat sang its song, and Harry idly wondered how he’d managed to miss half the school songs during his time at Hogwarts. Between the car, passing out from a dementor, and getting his nose smashed by Malfoy – and _fuck_ Malfoy for doing that, Harry thought to himself as McGonagall continued with the Sorting – he had only heard the Sorting Hat’s song during his fourth and fifth years.

Hermione’s name was called, and Harry gave her a smile as she jammed the Hat eagerly on her head. The Hat paused, before calling “Gryffindor!” As Harry remembered, Neville sat on the stool for a while, the Hat audibly huffing at more than one point, before shouting “Gryffindor!” This time around, Neville had the presence of mind not to take the Hat with him as he all but sprinted for the Gryffindor table.

Malfoy, as expected, went to Slytherin after barely a moment’s consideration from the Hat. When Harry’s name was finally called, the whispers broke out as he remembered, and the Hat dropped over his eyes a moment later.

“Well, that’s not something you see every day,” the Hat murmured in his ear. “A time traveler? Well then.” The Hat paused. “My goodness. You have seen more than your share, haven’t you?”

“And then some,” Harry mumbled.

“Some big plans, I see. Good on you, boy. Ambitious. You’d do well in Slytherin, although it took some stones to make that jump…and it certainly took intelligence to formulate that ritual. Great deal of work and loyalty to your friends and ideals too. Hm. Difficult. Very diff – I said that the first time ‘round, didn’t I. Hm. Your thoughts?”

“I’m a Gryff, through and through,” Harry mumbled, trying not to smile. “But you knew that.”

“I did, at that,” the Hat admitted. “Well then. Better be…GRYFFINDOR!” Harry took the Hat off, setting it delicately back on the stool and joined the other Gryffindors amid the cheers and hollering, Nick giving him a proud smile as Harry slid into an empty slot on the bench opposite Neville and next to Hermione. He caught Ron’s eye, giving him a reassuring nod. The boy was pale green as Dean Thomas got sorted into Gryffindor again, and Harry spotted Hagrid giving him a thumbs-up as Lisa Turpin went to Ravenclaw.

Ron’s rear hit the stool, and Harry waited patiently as the Hat considered for less than thirty seconds before assigning him to Gryffindor. “Called it,” Harry sing-songed as Ron joined them.

“Oh, hush,” Ron said, grinning as Fred reached over to poke him in the shoulder and give him a welcoming grin.

Dumbledore got to his feet, beaming at the students. Harry swallowed hard, mixed feelings surging as he spotted the old man. “Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!” He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or not.

“Is he — a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly.

“Mad?” said Percy airily. “He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”

Everyone tucked in, Nearly-Headless Nick watching mournfully. Harry caught his eye. “I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing a mouthful of potato. “Do you miss eating?”

“A bit,” Nick admitted. “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it.”

Harry paused, a bit of steak halfway to his mouth. “So us eating like this must be like taunting you.”

Nick shook his head. “No, no, don’t stop on my account. Like I said, I don’t need to eat. I miss a good lamb chop, but not having to eat _is_ good for the waistline.” Harry snorted out a laugh, and Nick winked. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”

“I know who you are!” said Ron suddenly. “My brothers told me about you — you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”

“I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy —” the ghost began stiffly, but Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

“ _Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?”

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn’t going at all the way he wanted. “Like _this_ ,” he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, “So — new Gryffindors! I hope you’re going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron’s becoming almost unbearable — he’s the Slytherin ghost.”

“I…well then,” Harry said, still staring at Nick. “Sir Nicholas, that must have been quite the ordeal.”

Hermione pushed her plate slightly away. “I could have gone without seeing that.”

“Sorry,” Nick replied. “It does wear on a bit to be asked that constantly, though.” He looked over the first-years. “If any of you have any questions or problems, I’m here to help.”

The dessert came and went, and Harry dug into a treacle tart, listening to the byplay between the new Gryffindors. “I’m half-and-half,” Seamus was saying. “Me dad’s a Muggle. Mom didn’t tell him she was a witch ’til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him.”

“Must have been an interesting conversation,” Harry said. Seamus grinned, nodding. “I’m a halfie too.” He glanced over as Quirrell and Snape continued their conversation, before Snape looked past Quirrell and into Harry’s eyes. He felt a sudden pressure against his Occlumency shields, and Snape’s eyes narrowed momentarily as Harry stared back at him.

Harry waited patiently, making small talk with Neville and Ron as Hermione chatted with Percy about the upcoming lessons. Dumbledore finally stood up as the last of the food disappeared. “Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. “I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”

Harry stared for a moment. “Don’t you think that’s just going to guarantee that people will go there?”

“Probably,” Ron mumbled.

They sang the school song and as they trotted off to bed, Peeves made his first appearance, yielding to Percy’s bluster about setting the Bloody Baron on the poltergeist. Harry dressed for bed, but left his clothes out, waiting calmly until he heard the proper amount of snoring before dressing, recovering a case from his trunk, and slipping back out of the portrait hole.

—ML—

Harry found Professor Flitwick patrolling, as the diminutive teacher had mentioned to him before he had made his leap to the past. Harry cleared his throat, and the professor turned around, his wand lit. “I say, what are you doing out at this time of night? Potter, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Professor Flitwick,” Harry replied. “It’s good to see you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Flitwick said. “It’s your first night, so I’ll let it go, but let’s get you off to bed.”

Harry smiled. “Professor? August 17, 1969.”

The professor paused, his eyes narrowing. “I beg your pardon?”

“There’s a lot I need to tell you,” Harry said softly. “You told me to mention that date.”

Flitwick stared at him a moment longer. “I never met you before today, but I’m listening.”

“I need you to take me to the Headmaster,” Harry replied. “This concerns him as well.” Flitwick seemed skeptical, but nodded.

It only took a few minutes to get to the gargoyle Harry remembered. “Chocolate Frogs,” Flitwick said, and the gargoyle nodded, leaping out of the way. “You mind giving me an idea of what’s going on?”

“I don’t know if you’d believe me if I told you,” Harry admitted.

Dumbledore was at his desk, Fawkes waiting nearby. The bird trilled as they entered the room, and Dumbledore looked up. “Filius? What brings you here at this late hour?”

“That’s a good question, Albus,” Flitwick replied. “I found young Potter here wandering the halls. He asked me to bring him to you. He mentioned August 17, 1969.” Harry’s eyes narrowed as a brief smile flashed across Albus’s face. “He said it concerned you as well.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “I see. Please, have a seat.” As everyone took a chair, Dumbledore fiddled with one of the instruments on his desk momentarily, and as the headmaster met his eyes again Harry felt a touch against his Occlumency shields. “Well, Harry, what was so important you felt it necessary to find your way here?”

“You know, I wondered what I’d feel, when I saw you again,” Harry said softly. “Anger at your manipulations, fear of what you’d think of what I did to get back here. But honestly?” The Boy-Who-Lived smiled. “I’m just glad to see you alive again, Professor.”

Dumbledore stared at him, mildly bemused. “And when was I not?”

“Several years in the future,” Harry replied calmly. “I appreciate you summoning Professor McGonagall. There’s going to be a lot of questions the both of you will have, and I’d appreciate you letting me get through this.” He paused as he felt another Legilimency probe. “I’d also appreciate you staying out of my head. But so you know that I’m serious, ‘ _Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also._ ’” Dumbledore visibly flinched as Harry recited the words on his sister’s gravestone. Flitwick looked confused, but remained silent. “My name is Harry James Potter, born July 31, 1980. I arrived at Hogwarts…technically yesterday, but also seven years ago.” Dumbledore stared at him. “At the end of my first year, I helped prevent the theft of the Philosopher’s Stone, stored here at Hogwarts for safekeeping in the Mirror of Erised. During my second year, I was revealed as a Parselmouth, a skill I wasn’t aware I possessed before its exposure. A basilisk placed in the Chamber of Secrets by Salazar Slytherin was awakened by a Horcrux of Lord Voldemort contained in a magical diary that possessed Ginny Weasley, a first-year who had had the diary placed among her belongings by Lucius Malfoy. I slew the basilisk, thankfully with no fatalities among the students, but several were petrified, and I was tagged as the Heir of Slytherin despite having no real connection to the attacks.”

McGonagall entered, and Harry nodded. “What’s going on here?”

“Have a seat, Minerva,” Dumbledore said faintly. “Mister Potter here is telling me a story I’m having some trouble believing.” He nodded to Harry. “Please, continue.”

“In my third year, Sirius Black escaped from wrongful imprisonment at Azkaban, hunting down the traitor Peter Pettigrew, who is currently masquerading as Ron Weasley’s pet rat Scabbers. Pettigrew escaped, and Sirius went on the run.”

“What?” McGonagall asked. “Your third year?”

“Please, let me get through this,” Harry continued. “My fourth year, the Triwizard Tournament was brought to Hogwarts, and I was entered against my will by Barty Crouch Junior, who was impersonating that year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody. Unfortunately, Lord Voldemort was able to return himself to power using a ritual that involved my blood, his father’s bones, and Pettigrew’s flesh. I escaped, but a student named Cedric Diggory was killed.”

At this point, Dumbledore had begun taking notes. His eyes flicked up momentarily at the mention of Cedric’s death, but he remained silent.

“In my fifth year, the Ministry began interfering at Hogwarts, Fudge under the impression that you were after his position. You and I were both slandered in the media as Fudge insisted that Voldemort had not returned, you lost several of your positions, and a Ministry stooge named Dolores Umbridge was named Defense professor, teaching a theory-only curriculum that was intended to prevent you from using the student as an army. The Ministry attempted to forcibly remove you from your post as Headmaster, but you fled with Fawkes, and Umbridge took over. At the same time, Voldemort was attempting to break into the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry, searching for the prophecy concerning him and me. I collapsed during the OWL exams as I received a vision of Voldemort torturing my godfather, but with mail and Floo connections being screened I could only warn Snape before taking several other students and flying on thestrals to the Ministry. We destroyed the prophecy, engaged several Death Eaters, and escaped while exposing Voldemort’s return to the public, but Sirius was killed and most of my companions and several members of the Order of the Phoenix were injured in the battle. You shared the contents of the prophecy with me afterwards.”

“I would ask that you not share them here,” Dumbledore warned.

“The time for secrets has passed,” Harry replied. “During my sixth year at Hogwarts, Snape was assigned to the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Professor Slughorn agreed to return to Hogwarts and take up the position of Potions professor. At the same time, Voldemort assigned Draco Malfoy to assassinate you, as punishment for his father’s failure at the Ministry. He couldn’t go through with it, but you had sustained a grievous injury during a Horcrux hunt that also involved recovering one of the Deathly Hallows.” Dumbledore looked ashen, but Harry wasn’t finished. “You and I covered much of Riddle’s past and his obsession with the Founders and their artifacts. Draco Malfoy made several inept attempts to kill you during the year, but managed to fix a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement and allowed several Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts. At the same time they entered the school, you and I recovered a fake Horcrux from a cave under the orphanage Tom Riddle was raised at, but you were badly injured in the attempt and I brought you back here for treatment. Malfoy and several Death Eaters cornered us at the top of the Astronomy tower, you wasting time petrifying me under my father’s Invisibility Cloak to keep me out of the fight. Malfoy couldn’t go through with the murder. On your orders, Snape killed you.”

McGonagall sputtered. “Professor Snape would _never-_ ”

“He did,” Harry snapped. “He cast a Killing Curse and blasted you clear off the tower. I know Severus Snape could never really take you, but I guess you wanted to give him iron-clad proof of his loyalty to the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters fled, escaping capture. The next year was…not good.”

“I would assume as much,” Dumbledore said.

“That's when things really started to go to hell in a hand basket too. With you dead, people lost hope and just wanted to give up. The second war got really bad after that.”

"Were we close?"

“A bit,” Harry replied. “I don’t doubt that you loved me like I was your family, and you did what you thought was best for everyone, but from where I’m standing, you messed up a lot where I'm concerned.”

“I’ve never labored under the delusion that I knew everything,” Dumbledore said softly.

Harry shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t easy. You can't make those particular mistakes again. I just had the one childhood to wreck. But after you died…it was a dark time. It didn’t help that I had bugger-all in the way of answers or information and an impossible task in front of me. Voldemort overthrew the Ministry that summer, forcing my friends and I to go on the run as we searched for the Horcruxes. The Order of the Phoenix did their best to fight back, but Muggleborns were being rounded up. We recovered Voldemort’s remaining Horcruxes, managing to destroy them with some help from the basilisk’s corpse and the Sword of Gryffindor.”

“You located the Sword?” Dumbledore asked. “It’s been lost for centuries.”

Harry picked up the Sorting Hat. “If I might demonstrate?”

“He’s for real, Albus,” the Hat said as Harry reached into it. “I’ve seen his memories. They’re not pretty.” Harry pushed his arm a little deeper, and the Hat squeaked. “Goodness, Harry, I don’t swing that way!”

Harry fished around in the Hat, feeling the hilt of the Sword of Gryffindor slide into his hand and drawing the blade. “Almost two years from now, I rammed this through the head of the basilisk. You kept it here, and attempted to bequeath it to me in your will, but the Ministry blocked that. Snape took over as headmaster, working from the inside to attempt to minimize the damage to the students. Two Death Eaters were assigned on the staff. Snape managed to get the Sword to me, and we managed to destroy one of the Horcruxes with it, but it all came to a head when Voldemort attacked the school.” Harry swallowed hard, setting the blade on Dumbledore’s desk. “I defeated him, at the end of the day. But I wouldn’t call it a win. Dozens dead, hundreds grievously injured or missing. People I knew, people I cared about. So I took a chance. With help from the future versions of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick here, along with most of the Potter fortune and the assistance of a legion of expert spellcrafters, we constructed a ritual that cast me back in time to the day I met Hagrid.” Harry gave Dumbledore a strained smile. “And now you find me here. The story didn’t end the way I wanted. So I’m rewriting it. You want in?”

Dumbledore stared at him a moment, before quietly opening a drawer on his desk, retrieving a bottle of firewhiskey and three glasses. He poured generous helpings into each one, passing the other two to the other professors and downing the alcohol. “That’s quite a story.”

“If you have any doubts,” Harry said, dropping the case on the desk, “I’ve supplied memories of the events I’ve detailed. All of it. I’m willing to submit to Veritaserum.”

Dumbledore quietly set the case aside. “Why come to me?”

“Because despite my knowledge of the future, I am, currently, an eleven-year-old boy,” Harry explained. “I might wield the economic power of the Potter fortune, but I’ve only got a sixth-year’s education, relatively limited combat experience, and all the power of a first-year. I needed allies. And I figured you would be the best suited to utilize this information.” Harry gave him a weak smile. “And I’d rather drop the problem in your lap.”

“I see.” He shrugged. “I believe you.”

“Just like that?” McGonagall asked. “You aren’t going to even examine those memories?”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” Dumbledore replied. “But Harry here knows things that he very explicitly should not and _could not_ know if he were not from the future. Bringing back the Triwizard Tournament, for example, has only just been proposed, and quietly at that.”

“And I’ve only told you part of it,” Harry replied. “I’m pretty sure the full story could fill several books. I’d rather condense it a bit so I can actually learn something at this school this time around.” Flitwick snorted, chuckling. “Seriously, I missed so many exams I’m honestly surprised I was even allowed to take my OWLs.”

“All right, let’s say I believe this,” McGonagall said, her voice picking up a tinge of her brogue. “What do we do about it?”

“Well, first off,” Harry replied, “Professor Quirrell needs to go. He’s currently hosting Voldemort’s soul. That’s what’s under that awful turban. Secondly, Professor _Snape_ needs to go.” He held up a hand as Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest. “I understand that you trust him, and that you believe he’s been redeemed. I also understand he’s an excellent Potions master. However, he is without a doubt the _worst_ professor I have ever studied under, and that includes Umbridge and Lockhart. By the start of my third year, he had abused so many students for so long that he was the worst fear of Neville Longbottom, who, I assure you, has _plenty_ of other things to be afraid of. The man has no loyalty to anyone but himself, and had he not had an obsessive hard-on for my mother, he’d still be a Death Eater, and you know it. He hated me from the moment I entered his sight, because my living meant the girl he wanted to screw was dead. His death during the Battle of Hogwarts generated a lot of mixed feelings for me. On the one hand, he attempted to defend the students, but when I viewed his memories, I saw him ignore my father’s body and my younger self to cradle my mother’s corpse. That was in between him practicing dark magic and joining up with a group of racist terrorists. I don’t care if you think he’s reformed. He’s not fit to teach. Here, or anywhere else.”

Dumbledore stared him down. “Severus has my full confidence. I trust him.”

“I’m sure you do, but you’re the only one,” Harry snapped. “I’ve no doubt you act in what you believe to be the students’ best interests, but your attempts to redeem men like Snape do more harm to innocents than you realize. The man willfully became a part of Voldemort’s inner circle and passed the prophecy on to him the moment he heard it. It was only when he found out Voldemort was going after my mum that he tried to get you to save her, and _just_ her.”

“That must have been an interesting conversation,” McGonagall mused. “What else?”

“Third, and to me most importantly, Sirius Black is innocent. Peter Pettigrew was the Secret-Keeper for my parents. They left memory strands saying as much in the Potter vault, which I recovered upon my second visit to Gringotts. They’re in the case. Sirius himself talked my parents into using Peter as their Secret-Keeper, and unfortunately, Peter sold them out to Voldemort. He faked his death, and is currently undercover as Ron Weasley’s rat. I’d appreciate it if we could get him out of there.”

“Sirius is _innocent_?” McGonagall asked, dropping her drink. “He’s spent a decade in Azkaban and he’s _innocent_?”

“And still sane, despite being imprisoned for life without trial,” Harry replied. “Old dog hung onto his soul for twelve years. He’s an Animagus, that helped. Fourth, I need to know where Remus Lupin is.”

Albus frowned. “Currently, he’s in recovery.”

“Recovery from what?” Harry asked pointedly.

“He must have not had time to tell you,” Dumbledore said softly. “After your parents’ deaths, and Sirius’s apparent betrayal and murder of Pettigrew, Remus…lost himself. In his own words, he went feral. He vanished for ten years, only re-emerging recently, as a shell of his former self. I found him in Eastern Europe, attempting to drink himself to death. I’ve had him cleaning up and trying to recover himself. Prior to his disappearance, he was living at a flat in Diagon Alley, I believe your parents owned it.”

“I’m currently living there,” Harry replied. “The place did look well-maintained.”

Dumbledore frowned. “You’re not living with your relatives?”

“The blood wards at Privet Drive are useless,” Harry replied flatly. “They rely on mutual love. I have no love for the Dursleys, and they have no love for me. The love my _mother_ had for me is what protects me, and me personally.”

“You’re living alone?” Dumbledore asked.

“He’s taking care of himself quite well,” McGonagall said. “I checked up on him during the summer when I ran into him in the Alley.”

“To be fair, that was deliberate, an attempt to meet and establish a friendship with Hermione Granger,” Harry admitted. “She was a very close friend, and I’m going to tell you all right now, she’s probably the smartest witch to ever attend Hogwarts. Certainly the smartest in this generation. But I would advise the both of you to encourage her. She’s undeniably brilliant, but she’s also _very_ insecure.”

“And Misters Weasley and Longbottom?” McGonagall asked. “I noticed your camaraderie with them.”

“Ron and I were mates from day one, but Neville was more of an outcast. Once he began to build his self-confidence, he turned into a fine wizard. He stood up to Voldemort on his own without a wand. I only know of one other person who’s done that, and he died doing it. Ron told him he had to start standing up to people in our first year, and by year seven he was throwing down with Dark Lords.” Harry sighed. “Go big or go home, I guess. Part of the problem, I think, is that his grandmother is constantly comparing him to his parents, and he doesn’t think he can live up to that. He’s even being forced to use his father’s wand rather than one suited to him. If you could all accommodate for that, he could certainly use the support.”

At some point, Flitwick had produced a quill and some parchment and had taken notes as well. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“The next problem is the Horcruxes,” Harry said.

“There’s that word again,” McGonagall chimed in. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with them.”

Harry nodded. “Well, the gist of it is, committing a cold-blooded murder splits your soul. It’s possible to lodge a fragment of your soul in a physical container and essentially stave off your death that way. Voldemort made several.”

Dumbledore paled. “How many.”

“Well, let’s see.” Harry counted them off. “The diary, currently held by Lucius Malfoy. The Gaunt ring, buried under the floor of their shack. That’s also the Resurrection Stone, but for goodness’ sake, don’t put it on. That’s how you got injured. The cup of Helga Hufflepuff, currently locked in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. The Ravenclaw diadem, currently here at Hogwarts, in the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor. The Slytherin locket, currently at the Black residence at Grimmauld Place. And…well…” he paused. “Me.”

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. “Once more, with clarity?”

“Besides the other five, he intended to create another Horcrux with the murder of me and my parents,” Harry explained, “and began the ritual. However, when his body was destroyed, the fragment of soul latched onto me. I was hoping you lot might have some ideas how to go about removing it.”

“We’ll look into that,” Dumbledore promised, his face ashen. “He intended to have seven pieces of his soul?” Harry nodded. “The miserable fool.” Dumbledore shook his head. “Very well. It seems there’s a great deal of work to do.”

“First things first,” Harry insisted. “Sirius and Remus. They need to be taken care of.”

“I assure you, we’ll get everything-”

“Albus,” Harry said tiredly, letting all of his experience show through. “I had very little time with my godfather or with Remus. They’re good men. Take care of them first. We’re people, not chess pieces.”

Dumbledore paused. “I’ll sort out the evidence you mentioned and start the paperwork for getting Sirius taken out of Azkaban. It shouldn’t take long. Remus should be…amazed, to hear this.”

“If you don’t mind?” Harry asked. “I’d rather be the one to tell them about my jump through time. Just tell Remus that Sirius is innocent. My…cover story, as it were, is that I was merely curious about my family and uncovered the evidence to exonerate him. I’m trying to keep this quiet.”

“We can do that,” Dumbledore agreed.

“Definitely,” McGonagall added.

Flitwick smiled. “You are an interesting one, Harry. But I hope you know, I expect you to excel in all my classes.” Harry snorted, casting a nonverbal, wandless Levitation Charm at the professor, who squeaked happily as he was lifted from his chair. “Oh, very good!”

“Right then,” Harry said, gently setting Flitwick down and looking to Dumbledore. “I’m going to go to bed. Keep me posted on all this. I would suggest re-hiring Professor Slughorn as Potions professor, and perhaps you could take over Defense Against the Dark Arts at the right time?”

“This is going to be an interesting year,” Dumbledore said with a wry smile.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” Harry agreed. “Just one more thing. Professor Flitwick, what happened on August 17, 1969?”

The Charms professor turned pink. “Albus and I were at Woodstock,” Flitwick replied. “Things got a bit…odd.”

—ML—

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. After seven years of whispers, staring, and hostility, Harry was used to the attention, but that didn’t make it any less annoying to deal with.

Hermione, Neville, and Ron were behind him, and Harry had to slow himself down, remembering that they didn’t know the castle as well as he did. “There are a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts,” Hermione was chattering away. “Some of them move, and it’s said that Rowena Ravenclaw was the one who designed-”

“Wait, wait,” Harry interrupted. “The moving staircases were _Ravenclaw’s_ idea?” Hermione nodded. “I wonder what she was drinking that day.” Neville snickered, moments before he slipped on a trick step and sank into it up to his knee. “See what I mean? Who designs a staircase like this?” Harry hauled his friend up and out of the trick step, pulling him to his feet. “And why don’t they give us a map or something? This place is huge.”

Classes went by quickly, although Harry quickly found himself helping out Ron and Neville, having mastered the lessons years previously. Hermione seemed confused by how easily Harry was picking up the lessons, and the Boy-Who-Lived made a mental note to at least appear to struggle. McGonagall raised an eyebrow when Harry made a show of attempting to change his match to a needle, and nearly smiled when Harry managed it, before scratching it on the table and causing the end to ignite.

Hermione scowled. “How did you do that?” She held up her own matchstick, which had only gone slightly pointy at the end. He scooted his chair closer to her and quietly explained.

“Some people think that by putting a lot of power or fancy wand movements into a Transfiguration spell, the spell will have a better chance of success. They’re partially right. With more power, the spell lasts longer. That’s how they do permanent Transfiguration. With the wand movements, it’s more of a way to guide the magic. The trick to Transfiguration, so to speak, is in the visualization. Just concentrate on what you want it to be, focus your magic, and cast the spell.” Hermione nodded, closed her eyes, tapped the matchstick, and opened her eyes to find a perfect needle. She squealed quietly, and Harry chuckled. He heard a throat cleared behind them and turned to find Professor McGonagall standing behind them, looking mildly amused.

“That’ll be five points each to Gryffindor for a perfect Transfiguration. And another five points to Mr. Potter for an excellent explanation of Transfiguration.” Her mouth twitched and she walked away.

Harry turned back to Hermione. “Was that a smile I saw on her face?”

Hermione nodded. “I believe it was.”

Harry gave her an impish grin. “Must be because of my devilish good looks.” Hermione smacked him in the arm and he grabbed both needles, sitting them side by side. He began to focus again and waved his wand slowly. The needles began to grow in length and thickness until they were almost three feet long. He then altered the flow of magic and the needles changed form slightly.

“Mr. Potter? What exactly are you doing?” Harry held up the pair of giant matched knitting needles.

“Hagrid knits. I figured I’d give him an early Christmas present.” McGonagall’s mouth twitched again as Harry grinned, the witch clearly on to him.

“That’s another five points to Gryffindor, for initiative with the lesson.” Hermione did a happy dance in the seat next to him.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was certainly interesting. Quirrell’s lessons had been useless to begin with, but Harry was fairly certain he could pass a Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT in his sleep. He paid close attention regardless, taking diligent notes.

As the end of the first week rolled around, Harry sighed at breakfast as he glanced at his schedule and spotted double Potions with the Slytherins. “This ought to be good.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Snape’s head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them.”

“Oh, joy,” Neville groused, forking up some eggs. “I bet he’ll just love us.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, do you think a professor would be allowed to teach if he wasn’t impartial?”

Harry stared at her. “You do remember we have a _ghost_ teaching History of Magic, right? And that we have a poltergeist allowed to live in the castle? And that there’s something apparently deadly living in the castle on the third floor?”

Hermione paused. “But surely they wouldn’t…”

“Hermione, logic clearly doesn’t apply to this place,” Harry said softly. “I wouldn’t trust any of these authority figures until they’ve proven they’re worthy of respect.” The mail arrived, and Harry held out a strip of bacon without even looking, Hedwig setting it down just long enough to affectionately nibble at his ear and drop off a letter from Hagrid. “I’m invited for tea at Hagrid’s around three this afternoon,” Harry read aloud. “You lot want to come?”

Ron shrugged. “I’m in.” Neville nodded, and Hermione added her assent. Harry scribbled a reply on the back of the note and handed it back to Hedwig with a wink.

Another owl dropped off an envelope with the Gringotts seal, and Harry glanced over the statement, nodding approvingly as he noticed they had made the investments he had recommended and put several other plans into action.

Snape, as Flitwick had, took roll call at the start of class. Snape paused at Harry’s name. “Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new – _celebrity_.” Malfoy and his cronies sniggered, and Snape continued with the roll call as Harry leaned back in his chair, formulating a plan for the destruction of one of Hogwarts’s…well, Snape wasn’t anything near Hogwarts’s finest, but you get the point.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Hermione glanced down to see that Harry had already written Snape’s entire speech down, word for word. Apparently without even moving.

“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Without missing a beat, Harry responded. “Depending on the how much you used, a stink bomb possibly bad enough to render this classroom unsuitable for human life. However, if you were to add something to prevent said reaction, you would have a basic form of the Draught of Living Death.”

Snape sneered. “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

Harry looked disturbed, and asked, “I hope you would have some on hand, Professor, but if you didn’t, my next stop would be a goat’s stomach. It’s an antidote to most poisons, which is why I hope you would have some handy.”

Snape actually snarled his next question at Harry. “And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Harry shrugged slightly. “The name. It’s the same substance, really. Just depends on who you ask.”

Snape’s eye twitched. “Five points will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.” Harry kept his face neutral, remembering the man had only taken a single point the first time around.

Things didn’t improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. Harry occasionally nudged Neville when Snape was far enough away, warning him off a mistake. Hermione was giving Harry concerned looks as the boy casually made a perfect potion. With the assistance from Harry, Neville managed to avoid destroying the cauldron, and Snape loomed repeatedly, glaring balefully at Harry and Neville but unable to find anything to take fault with.

As they left the class, Harry finally exhaled an explosive breath. “What a jerk,” he growled.

“I’ve heard he can get very nasty,” Ron said softly. “He’s always taking points off Fred and George. Wonder why he hates you so much?”

Harry knew exactly why, but he didn’t feel like explaining. ‘He sold my family up the river, but wanted to bang my mum and didn’t care if my father or I died’ raised more questions than it answered. “He didn’t seem too fond of Neville either.”

Neville nodded shakily. “He did seem to be looking for a reason to hate me.”

Harry knew why he hated Neville as well, but having officially known him for less than a week, it seemed a bit early to say ‘I got chosen by Voldemort instead of you so he didn’t get to bang my mum’ and ruin everybody’s mood. “Doesn’t matter, he’s a jerk,” Harry finally said. “I’m not exactly supportive of this whole points system anyway. The House Cup is basically just rewarding blind obedience anyway. All we get out of it is the end-of-year feast in our colors.”

“Then why did you go out of your way to get points in Charms and Transfiguration?” Hermione asked pointedly as they exited the castle, heading for Hagrid’s hut.

Harry paused. “I’m competitive. Don’t judge me.” Hermione snickered, and Harry gave her a grin. “I’ll win points for performance, but I’m not going to take abuse like that from Snape.” He looked over. “And neither should you, Neville. Arseholes like that aren’t worth the trouble.” Hermione scowled at his language, but Neville nodded. “Besides, you only looked like you were going to mess up when he was hovering.”

“I wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t been helping me,” Neville replied.

“Nonsense,” Harry snapped. “You’re a good wizard, Neville. You just need confidence.” He paused. “You know, something just occurred to me. You were having trouble in Charms. Are you sure your wand suits you?”

Neville stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It was my dad’s,” he mumbled.

“Wait a tic, you’re using your dad’s wand?” Harry asked. Neville nodded, his face bright red. “Well _no wonder_.” Neville raised an eyebrow. “It’s like trying to force an elephant through a mousehole. Neville, you’re not going to get as good results using your dad’s wand as you would one that chooses you. Ron’s using his older brother’s old wand.” Ron turned pink, but Harry shook his head. “Both of you were having trouble. Crikey, you two are good wizards, you’re just not given the right _tools_ …no wonder you’re not having as easy a go of it as Hermione or me.”

Hagrid’s small cottage sat on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and Harry smiled faintly as he saw the crossbow and the galoshes outside the front door. Harry knocked, and frantic scrabbling and barking was heard from inside. Hagrid ordered the giant hound away from the door, and Ron grinned as he saw the giant boarhound. “Make yerselves at home,” Hagrid said, letting Fang go. The dog immediately pounced on Ron, licking his ears. “Don’t mind Fang, he’s harmless. Just drools a bit.” Ron sighed, but scratched the hound behind the ears good-naturedly. “Seems to like yeh more than yer twin brothers. I spent half me life chasin’ ‘em away from the forest.”

“Yeah, they’re…they’re a handful,” Ron said diplomatically.

“So how’ve yeh been?” Hagrid asked, pouring boiling water into a large teapot. The rock cakes he served were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but the quartet pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry’s knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry glanced at the paper cutting on the table under the tea cozy, spotting the article about the Gringotts break-in. “Huh. That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday. The vault was emptied that same day – Hagrid, was that that package you picked up?”

“Yeh shouldn’t ask about that, Harry,” Hagrid said sternly. “It’s strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.”

“Flamel?” Harry asked. “The alchemist? He’s still alive?”

Hagrid paused. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Said what?” Harry asked innocently. Hagrid hustled them out not long afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry groaned. “Oh, wonderful. Flying lessons with the Slytherins today. I bet Malfoy will be just a peach.”

“He might straighten up,” Ron said reasonably. “Anyway, I know Malfoy’s always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that’s all talk.”

Harry nodded. “Well, those ridiculous stories that always seem to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters do get old. But you and he have both been on broomsticks plenty. Hermione and I haven’t.”

“My gran never let me near one,” Neville admitted. “Felt it was too dangerous.”

Harry rolled his eyes as they entered the Great Hall. “Frankly, it seems like we face plenty of danger on the ground – I looked it up, and I could easily have jinxed my eyebrows off in Charms this week.” He glanced at Hermione. “You nervous?”

Hermione nodded. “This isn’t something you can learn by heart out of a book.”

“It’s really not hard,” Ron said, the group sitting down to breakfast. “Once you get the hang of it.” Hermione seemed unconvinced, but helped herself to some porridge as the mail arrived.

Harry’s mail had been limited to the odd note from Gringotts and Hagrid, and a barn owl brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. He opened it excitedly and showed them the Remembrall that had changed Harry’s life so much.

“It’s a Remembrall!” he explained. “Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there’s something you’ve forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red — oh…” His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, “… you’ve forgotten something…”

“Check your zipper,” Harry suggested. Neville glanced down, blushed pink, and zipped up. The Remembrall cleared up. “I don’t understand why they would have something that lets you know that you forgot something, but not what you forgot.”

That was Malfoy’s moment to enter, and he snatched the Remembrall out of Neville’s hand. “Trying to be a real wizard, Longbottom?”

“Draco, you seem to take an awful lot of interest in me and Neville,” Harry said. “Look, I appreciate it, and I’m sure you’re a nice boy and all, but I’m not gay, no matter how much you like playing with balls. Neville, you gay?” The boy shook his head. “Sorry, Draco, but you’re going to have to look somewhere else for a boyfriend.” The Slytherin sputtered. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you’re just not our type. Sorry, mate.” The boy dropped the Remembrall on the table, leaving in a huff.

Ron was bright red, managing to hold in his laughter until Malfoy was a fair distance away. Hermione was rolling her eyes, but couldn’t hold back her smile.

The group managed to beat the Slytherins out to the field where the broomsticks lay out, and Harry carefully made sure that Hermione and Neville wound up on either side of him. Ron was on the far side of Neville, cracking his knuckles in anticipation. Madam Hooch arrived shortly afterwards, looking them over. “Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.” The old broom on Harry’s right seemed to quiver in anticipation.

“Remember,” Harry said quietly to Hermione and Neville, “confidence. You two can do this.”

“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say ‘Up!’”

“UP” everyone shouted.

Harry’s broom jumped into his hand at once, clearly sensing his confidence. Neville’s wavered, but rose unsteadily to his hand. Hermione’s rolled over in a disgruntled fashion, and the witch scowled, repeating herself. “Treat it like a puppy,” Harry suggested. “Give it a firm tone, but be gentle. Don’t shout at it, or it’ll fight you.”

“I’m a cat person,” Hermione protested.

“Just try it!”

Hermione shook herself, cleared her throat, and looked sternly at the broom. “Up!” The broom bolted into her hand, and the witch cocked her head. “Down!” The broom settled onto the ground. “Roll over!” The broom spun, righting itself and waggling its end slightly, and the witch giggled. “All right, up!” The broom slid into her hand.

Ron chuckled. “He’s right.” He dropped his broom, before confidently calling it back to his hand. “See?”

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Harry and Ron were delighted when she told Malfoy he’d been doing it wrong for years.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch.

Neville was pale, as was Hermione, but they gripped their brooms carefully. Harry gave them a reassuring smile, and Neville nodded in return.

“Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —”

Neville jumped the gun, just as Harry remembered, and pushed off harder than Harry remembered.

“Come back, boy!” Madam Hooch shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, and lose control. Neville’s broom rocketed upwards, and Hooch seized a broom from Malfoy as Neville slid sideways off the broom. She kicked a leg over it, but Harry had already taken off, rocketing towards Neville at a speed that made the old broom he was riding shudder. Neville spotted him as he flailed towards the ground and Harry stretched out an arm, catching the boy around the wrist. Both boys shouted in pain as the impact jarred their bodies, but Harry held on tight, steering with his knees as he pointed the broom groundwards. He set Neville down gently, landing softly and grimacing as his shoulder protested.

“You all right?” He asked Neville.

“I think so,” Neville groaned. “The joint popped pretty good, but I think I’m all right.”

“HARRY POTTER!” The two boys turned, seeing Hooch and McGonagall running towards them.

“We’re all right, sorry,” Harry called, waving. “I reacted on instinct, I didn’t want to see Neville get hurt.”

“You might have broken your neck!” Hooch shouted angrily. McGonagall was watching Harry warily, and Harry nodded silently as Hooch lambasted them.

“Potter, come with me,” McGonagall said finally. “Longbottom, stay here. Continue your lesson.”

Harry strode towards the castle with McGonagall, and once they were a safe distance away, the woman rounded on him, her face tight. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

“Yes and no,” Harry replied. “Neville broke his wrist the first time, but he didn’t fly nearly that high. Soon as he did, I took off. I had tried to give him some more confidence with it, I didn’t see this coming.”

McGonagall glared at him. “If there are other threats to my students, I need to know. Now.”

“Not here,” Harry said quietly. “But there aren’t any threats, not for a while.” McGonagall nodded, clearly relaxing. “Believe me, Professor, if I know something’s going to happen that would endanger a student, I’ll tell you.”

McGonagall shrugged. “Very well. Twenty points to Gryffindor for bravery and quick thinking.” She paused a moment and Harry cocked his head.

“Was there something else, Professor?”

“Mister Potter, have you ever thought about joining the Quidditch team?”

Harry grinned. “You looking for a Seeker?”

McGonagall scowled. “I suppose you knew I was going to ask.”

Harry’s grin turned impish. “Maybe a little. For what it’s worth, I was _very_ good. And I know all of Oliver Wood’s plays.”

The woman gave him a stern look, but sighed and shrugged. “Come on, then.”

She pulled Oliver Wood out of his Charms class, the fifth-year looking confused as he came out. McGonagall found an empty classroom and threw Peeves out, cleaning the rude words he had been writing on the blackboard off with a flick of her wand. “Potter, this is Oliver Wood. Wood — I’ve found you a Seeker.”

Wood’s expression changed from puzzlement to delight. “Are you serious, Professor?”

“Absolutely,” said Professor McGonagall crisply. “The boy’s a natural. I’ve never seen anything like it. Was that your first time on a broomstick, Potter?”

“Yes, Professor,” Harry replied, technically telling the truth. “It just…felt natural.”

“His reflexes are excellent, and he’s a natural on a broom. Charlie Weasley wasn’t as good.”

Wood was now looking as though all his dreams had come true at once. “Ever seen a game of Quidditch, Potter?” he asked excitedly.

“Wood’s captain of the Gryffindor team,” Professor McGonagall explained.

“He’s just the build for a Seeker, too,” said Wood, now walking around Harry and staring at him. “Light —speedy — we’ll have to get him a decent broom, Professor — a Nimbus Two Thousand or a Cleansweep Seven, I’d say.”

“Nimbus is better,” Harry replied automatically. “Faster in a dive, although the Cleansweep is more maneuverable. I can pay for it, but first-years aren’t allowed to play.”

“I shall speak to Professor Dumbledore and see if we can’t bend the first-year rule,” McGonagall said. “Heaven knows, we need a better team than last year. _Flattened_ in that last match by Slytherin, I couldn’t look Severus Snape in the face for weeks…” Professor McGonagall peered sternly over her glasses at Harry. “I want to hear you’re training hard, Potter, or I may change my mind about punishing you.”

Harry gave her a grin. “Aw, Professor, you know I wouldn’t skive off on something serious.” He looked to Wood. “Ollie, you think I could borrow one of the school brooms until whatever broom we get me arrives?”

Oliver nodded firmly. “Oh, yes.” He rubbed his hands together gleefully. “This is going to be good.”

McGonagall smiled. “Your father would have been proud,” she said. “He was an excellent Quidditch player himself. A Chaser.”

—ML—

Ron and Hermione were stunned as Harry filled them in, and Neville was still working the ache out of his shoulder. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he’d forgotten all about it. “ _Seeker_?” he said. “But first years _never_ — you must be the youngest house player in about —”

“ — a century,” said Harry, spooning some horseradish onto a baked potato. “Wood told me.”

Ron was staring at him, openmouthed. Neville snorted. “Well, good luck to you. I think I’m going to stay on the ground from now on.”

“Come on, Nev, you just need practice,” Harry said easily. “How’d things go after I left?”

Hermione was explaining how Malfoy had been showboating when Fred and George Weasley came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over. “Well done,” said George in a low voice. “Wood told us. We’re on the team too — Beaters.”

“I tell you, we’re going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year,” said Fred. “We haven’t won since Charlie left, but this year’s team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us.”

Harry grinned. “I’ll see you out there, boys. Meantime, get some mischief managed.” Fred’s eyes narrowed, and he shared a glance with George as Harry tapped his nose knowingly.

Moments later, Malfoy showed up, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Before Malfoy could say anything, Harry sniffed pointedly. “Did the air just turn foul in here?”

“Having a last meal, Potter?” Malfoy jeered. “When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?”

“Draco, seriously, I’m not gay,” Harry insisted. “I have no interest in some desperate fumble in the broom cupboards.”

Malfoy turned pink. “You keep that up and I’m going to fight you.”

“Ooh, scary,” Harry snorted. “Like you’ve ever had to fight anyone, especially with your bookends here.”

“I’d take you on anytime on my own,” said Malfoy. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard’s duel. Wands only — no contact.”

Malfoy scowled as Harry burst out laughing. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sure. I defeated one of the most powerful Dark wizards in the world as a baby. What chance do you think you have?” He looked to Ron. “You want to be my second?” Ron nodded. “Who’s yours?”

Malfoy sized up his bookends. “Crabbe,” he said. “Midnight all right? We’ll meet you in the trophy room; that’s always unlocked.”

When Malfoy had gone, Ron and Harry looked at each other. “Do you have any intention of going?” Ron asked.

“Of course not,” Harry scoffed. “You think Malfoy has the stones to show up? He’d just tell Filch and try to get us in trouble.”

“Good,” Hermione said firmly. “You’d lose so many points if you got caught.”

“Don’t really care about House points,” Harry replied bluntly. “But I’m not dumb enough to go anyway.”

—ML—

Sure enough, Malfoy looked stunned when Harry and Ron were still at Hogwarts the next day. Another week of classes went by, Snape continuing to do his best to humiliate the Gryffindors in class. Harry’s indifference to the greasy man’s taunts cost him points, but with a bit of help Neville had managed to produce sufficient-quality work in all of his potions, and under McGonagall and Flitwick’s watchful eyes had met standards in his classwork. The broom arrived, Harry unable to resist a grin as his old Nimbus Two Thousand landed on the table, with the warning letter from McGonagall landing on top a moment later.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Harry said to the others.

Sure enough, Malfoy accosted them in the entrance hall, seizing the package from Harry. “That’s a broomstick,” he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. “You’ll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren’t allowed them.”

“You didn’t seem to care when you said you were going to bully your father into getting you one,” Harry shot back. “Besides, the professors know I’ve got it.”

“Sure they do,” Malfoy scoffed.

Before Harry could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy’s elbow.

“Not arguing, I hope, boys?” he squeaked.

“Potter’s been sent a broomstick, Professor,” said Malfoy quickly.

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. “Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?”

“A Nimbus Two Thousand,” said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy’s face. “Professor McGonagall thought a Cleansweep might be a better fit, but we went with your suggestion, saying that the speed advantage would be more important.”

“I look forward to seeing you fly,” Flitwick said happily. “But don’t expect to beat Ravenclaw so easily!”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry chuckled, scooting up the stairs with the others. Hermione looked uncertain, and Harry gave her a knowing look. “You think I’m being rewarded for breaking rules?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” she admitted. “Not doing it would mean Neville might have splattered on the field. But…you weren’t _supposed_ to.”

“Hermione, rules are nice, and usually they’re there to protect us,” Harry said softly, “but sometimes, you have to ignore them. No rule is perfect. You’ll notice I usually wear pants to class and don’t pick my nose with my wand. Those are good rules.” Hermione smiled faintly as the other boys chuckled. “But you’ll find out that not all of them are good.” The girl still didn’t seem convinced, and Harry hooked his broom over his shoulder. “Let’s stash this before classes.”

—ML—

Oliver Wood found Harry doing donuts, skidding around on the broom’s tail as he zipped in and out of hoops, and generally having the time of his life. Harry hadn’t been on a broom in good circumstances since his sixth year. The fifth-year laughed as he saw Potter whooping, the boy flying loops and doing textbook rolls and dives. Harry eventually noticed Wood and threw himself into a Wronski Feint, the Keeper’s eyes bugging out as Harry gently braked to a stop and stepped off his broom as casually as if he’d stepped off a set of stairs.

“You _are_ a natural,” Wood said, his eyes glinting. “I see what McGonagall meant. Well, I’m just going to teach you the rules this evening, but you’ll be joining team practice three times a week.”

“I know the rules,” Harry replied. “Three Chasers work with the Quaffle, one Keeper blocks the goals, two Beaters keep the Bludgers away from their own team and aim them at the other team, and the Seeker tries to catch the Snitch.”

Wood beamed at him. “Excellent. Don’t worry, the Bludgers never killed anyone at Hogwarts, we’ve had a couple broken jaws or arms, but nothing worse than that. You’re our new Seeker, so you don’t have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers.”

“Unless they crack my head open,” Harry said quietly.

Oliver shook his head. “Don’t worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers — I mean, they’re like a pair of human Bludgers themselves. But since you’ve got the rules down already, let’s see what you can do, yeah?”

After a half hour of Wood throwing and Banishing the golf balls in every direction and Harry catching them with minimal effort, the Keeper was practically giddy. “There’s no way we won’t take the Cup this year,” Wood said proudly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn’t gone off chasing dragons.”

“Well, his little brother Ron wrestles them for fun now, so I guess Charlie felt he had to measure up,” Harry said. “From what I understand, Ron’s no slouch on the pitch himself, makes a pretty good Keeper.”

“Does he?” Wood asked. “Huh. Maybe I’ll see if we can get him on the pitch for practice, be nice to know someone good would take over my spot.”

Weeks passed, and the week of Halloween, Harry lingered after the first Transfiguration class, catching McGonagall’s eye. He had felt several probes from Snape ricochet off his shields, getting stronger with every attack. Harry had carefully recorded the probes, recognizing perfect blackmail evidence when he saw it. But so far, no action had been taken against the man. “Something on your mind, Potter?”

“Halloween,” Harry said quietly. “Quirrell’s going to let a troll into the castle as a distraction. He’s going after the Stone.”

McGonagall frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Oh, quite,” Harry replied. “He doesn’t get past Fluffy, but he did nearly get Hermione killed.”

The Transfiguration professor’s face hardened. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I can handle the troll,” Harry said. “If you and Professor Flitwick want to keep an eye on Quirrell, make sure he doesn’t cause any other trouble, I can make sure that the students stay out of the troll’s way.”

McGonagall looked at him, opening her mouth, before pausing. “You know, it’s difficult sometimes to remember that you’re not just an eleven-year-old boy,” she said softly. “Were we close? Before?”

Harry sighed. “Closer than most of your students, I’d say. You were like a stern aunt.” McGonagall smiled, and Harry gave her a grin. “You never took any guff from me, and you never gave an inch, but I had the feeling you genuinely cared. You stood up for me a few times when it mattered over the years, but…part of me always felt like you could have done more, _should_ have done more. I realize you had plenty to deal with already, but it was tough, sometimes. I felt like I was alone most of the time.”

McGonagall nodded. “Did I survive?” Harry looked down. “I see.”

“You helped send me back,” Harry said softly. “You didn’t live to see the successful ritual. But without you, I don’t think it would have been possible.”

“That’s…a comfort,” McGonagall allowed. “Harry, I – I am sorry that you were left with the Dursleys. I was against it from the start, you know. I spent a day watching them before you were left with them. I thought almost anywhere else would have been better, but Professor Dumbledore insisted you would be safer with them.”

“I didn’t know, actually,” Harry replied. “But I appreciate it.”

The morning of Halloween, Harry was wary of everything, trying not to stare too obviously at Quirrell as the man nervously ate his breakfast. He glanced over at Hermione, who still seemed to be wrestling with the conflict between her ingrained adherence to rules and what Harry had told her.

As Flitwick started the class on their assignment for the day, a Hover Charm, he sat down at his desk and began to watch Harry intently. Harry nudged Hermione with his elbow. “I think Flitwick is watching us.”

Without missing a beat, Hermione said, “Oh dear. Afraid you won’t be able to perform?” Harry stared at her for a moment and then broke out laughing.

“Hermione Granger! I do hope you know I’m not that sort of a boy!” He lowered his voice. “I always… _rise to the occasion_ , if you get my point.”

“Oi, you two, these public displays of affection have got to stop,” Ron chimed in. “You’re making me ill.”

“Jealous, Ron?” Neville asked. “Don’t worry, you still have me.”

“Don’t remind me,” the boy grumbled. “I’m trying to make this thing fly.”

“Easy, Ron, less swish, more flick,” Neville warned as he came close to losing an eye.

“Let’s see you do it, then,” Ron challenged. Neville looked unsure, but went through the proscribed movements. The feather shuddered and lifted half-heartedly, managing to hover a few inches off the desk. Neville’s face fell. “Let me try,” Ron said, imitating Neville’s movements. The feather moved slightly higher, but fell almost immediately afterwards. “Hmph. I’m too young to have performance issues.” Harry choked on some spit, coughing out a laugh as Hermione sniggered. “I want you to know you both have filthy minds,” Ron said.

“Beats a filthy mouth,” Hermione shot back. Ron stuck his tongue out at her, and the witch flicked her wand at her feather, incanting the charm and sending it soaring four feet over their heads.

“All right, looks like you’ve got it,” Flitwick squeaked. “Mister Potter?”

Harry pointed his wand at his feather and sneezed. The feather shot upwards with a loud crack, burying itself in the ceiling and leaving a trail of smoke in its wake. “Excuse me,” the boy said, looking over at Hermione’s feather. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” The feather hovered perfectly, and Flitwick nodded approvingly.

“Very good, Mister Potter, as I’ve come to expect.” He looked at Ron and Neville. “Are you boys sure your wands are suited to you?”

“I…er…” Ron turned pink. “I’m using my brother Charlie’s old wand.”

“My dad’s,” Neville whispered.

“I see…” Flitwick frowned. “You two definitely need to get proper wands, but considering the circumstances, I’m impressed nonetheless. Two first-years getting such results with the wands of others is nothing to sneer at.” The two seemed encouraged by Flitwick’s words, and soon were trying harder and harder, getting the feather to float more steadily.

“You know, Harry,” Hermione said as Ron jostled Neville’s elbow, trying to make him drop the spell, the other boy grinning at him triumphantly, “I’ve noticed you really seem to respect Flitwick. Yet you hate Snape. They’re both teachers, though.”

“Snape hated me from the minute I set foot in this castle,” Harry said idly, making Hermione’s feather stick itself in Parvati’s hair and dance along with her words. “He’s a professor, sure, but that doesn’t mean he deserves respect. Just means he holds that position despite a complete lack of qualifications as a teacher. Professor Flitwick, however, has been nothing but polite and pleasant, and encourages people who fail rather than bag on them more.”

Hermione still looked torn. “I see.”

The witch still seemed distracted throughout the rest of classes that day, and Harry kept a close eye on her until Transfiguration ended, when McGonagall called him up to her desk. “We’re ready.”

“Good,” Harry replied. “Any news?”

McGonagall nodded. “Your godfather has been contacted. We’ve submitted the evidence, and the Ministry is currently reviewing his case. They ought to reach a decision within a day or two. Pettigrew is still with Mr. Weasley?” Harry nodded. “We’ll seize him tonight. An Animagus.” She shook her head. “I never would have thought him capable.”

“All three of them were,” Harry replied. “Sirius, my father, and Pettigrew. They learned for Lupin.”

McGonagall’s face softened. “The loyalty of those boys…”

Harry nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, it won’t be long.” He caught up with Ron and Neville, looking around. “Where’s Hermione?”

“She said she needed to think, told us not to wait up,” Ron said quietly. “Why?”

“Oh, _crap_ ,” Harry breathed.

—ML—

Hermione was wandering the halls, deep in thought. It just didn’t make sense that a professor would be allowed to do what Snape did, to be so cruel to students. Her train of thought abruptly derailed as a foul stench reached her nostrils, a mixture of old socks and an uncleaned public toilet. The witch drew her wand, moving forward warily as she heard a low grunting and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet.

—ML—

“Harry, what’s going on,” Neville asked, panting as he hustled behind the boy, sprinting down the corridor. “Hermione’ll be fine! She’s just walking around.”

“You don’t understand,” Harry snapped, poking his head into the girl’s bathroom. “Third floor, third floor. Hermione, you in here?” No answer came. “Bollocks.”

Then Dumbledore’s voice echoed through the castle. “ _All students, return to your dormitories immediately. All teachers, report to the dungeons._ ”

“Shit,” Harry hissed.

A high, petrified scream echoed down the hallway, and Harry’s blood ran cold. “ _Hermione_!” Harry bellowed.

“ _Help!_ ” Harry sprinted towards the noise, Neville having taken off the moment he heard the screaming. Ron fell in behind Harry, keeping his wand low.

Hermione came running down the hall towards them, the troll roaring angrily and stomping along after her. Harry grabbed her, pulling her close against his chest protectively as Neville and Ron skidded to a stop, realizing they hadn’t the faintest idea of how to fight the troll.

Luckily, Harry had done this before. “ _Aguamenti!”_ Harry shouted, hosing down the hall and the troll with water. “ _Glacius_!” The water froze, and the troll slipped, hitting the floor hard enough to knock a nearby suit of armor off its plinth. “Everyone, together! Stunning Spells! _Stupefy_!” The others followed his lead, and multiple Stunners bounced off the troll’s hide, sending it reeling.

“It’s still moving!” Ron shouted as the troll advanced on them.

“Crap. Fall back!” Harry ordered, Ron and Neville rapidly backpedaling as Hermione pulled Harry back. “Ron, get a door open!”

“In here!” Ron shouted, wrenching open a hallway. The troll shoulder through the doorway after them, and the quartet slammed into a locked door at the other end of the hallway, Harry still flinging Stunners at the troll as quickly as he could. “We’re done for,” Ron moaned, pushing at the door.

“Move over,” Hermione rasped. “ _Alohomora_!” The lock clicked, and the door swung open, and Neville led them through the doorway, only to freeze in place a few feet inside.

“Why’d you stop?” Harry asked, before turning around. “Oh…ooooh _shit_.”

Hermione reflexively tried to admonish his foul mouth, but all that came out was a terrified squeak. Somehow, they had managed to wind up in the third corridor. The forbidden one. The one that, as Harry knew and the others now knew, contained a monstrous dog with three heads and a drool problem.

“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Harry said softly. The dog growled angrily, and Harry was about ready to resort to more violent spells when the troll roared from behind them, all three of the dog’s heads looking up at the new threat. It barked at the perceived threat, and Harry grabbed Hermione and Neville by the collars, slinging them out of the way and tackling Ron to the floor as Fluffy charged.

“Stay down!” Harry shouted over the din as the dog and the troll fought. “Hermione, Neville, stay down!”

The fight eventually ceased, and Fluffy stomped back into the room, bloodied but victorious. It sniffed at them and growled again. Harry did what he did best – improvise. “Who’s a good boy?” He cooed, placing both hands on his knees. “You! Yes you are!” The dog hesitated, obviously confused. “Guys, play along!”

Hermione snapped out of her shock first. “Who’s a pretty puppy! Who’s the cutest little doggie in all of Hogwarts?” Lowering her voice, she muttered, “I’m a cat person, but I’ll go with this.”

Neville quickly followed. “D’aww, such a cute guy, all fuzzy and…and…and fuzzy, and three-headed.”

“You wanna play, boy?” Ron asked, seizing the opportunity. “You wanna play?”

“Speak, boy!” Harry urged. “Speak!” The heads barked and howled, and Harry winced for a moment. “Good boy!” The dog leaned forward, its rear in the air and barked again, and Harry grimaced as his eardrums nearly ruptured. “Roll over, boy!” The dog threw itself to one side with a crash, exposing the trapdoor. “Good boy! Everyone, go!” As Ron hauled open the door, Harry ran over, scratching the dog’s belly. “Good boy! Guys, run!”

“Not without you!” Hermione shouted.

“I’m right behind you!” Harry said, scratching more furiously. “Good boy!” He slowly began backing away. “Now play dead!” The dog stiffened up, tongues lolling out of the side of its mouths. Harry backed up, before slamming the door shut behind him and collapsing against it as plaintive whines reached them. “Oh sweet mercy thank God that worked.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Ron gasped, making for the exit past the unconscious and badly mauled troll.

They barely made it to the end of the corridor before running into McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore. “Why are you here?” McGonagall demanded. “You could have been killed! Why didn’t you return to your dormitory?”

“When we heard about the troll,” Harry explained, “we went looking for Hermione. We found her and the troll at the same time.”

“And…the four of you did all this to a troll?” Dumbledore asked quietly.

“No, that giant dog did that,” Ron blurted out. “We were trying to get away and got in there by accident.”

“I see.” Dumbledore looked troubled. “That’s twice you could have been killed.”

“Lucky the dog wanted to play and had some obedience training,” Harry said. McGonagall facepalmed. “It took down the troll while we took cover, and then when it started growling at us I…well, I treated it like I would treat any other dog.”

“Ten points to Gryffindor for loyalty and courage, I should think,” Dumbledore pronounced. “Each. Now, off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

The group made to leave, but McGonagall took another look at the troll, shuddered, and looked back at them. “One more thing before you go?”

“Yes, professor?” Harry asked innocently.

“Please don’t make a habit of this,” McGonagall requested. “Not many first-years could take on a full-grown mountain troll and survive. I think we would all prefer if the lot of you did _not_ attempt to play the odds again.”

“You got it, Professor,” Ron promised.

“Well, at least we’ve got an expert on our side,” Harry said. “Ron wrestles dragons for fun, a troll was just a warm-up for him.” Ron stifled his snicker when he saw the three professors not laughing.

—ML—

Harry flopped down in his favorite armchair in the Gryffindor common room, worn out from the day. The common room was packed and noisy, the students tearing into the food that had been sent up. Harry managed to commander four armchairs in a relatively quiet corner and the four first-years took a moment to catch their breath.

Hermione looked shaken, sitting down quietly and carefully smoothing down her skirt. Neville apparently hadn’t noticed that his hair was standing on end and had been since they first spotted the troll. Ron plunked down next to them, holding out a plate of food to Neville. “Eat. You’ll feel better.” The boy looked over at Ron, blinking hard, before shaking himself and taking the plate. “Take it slow, or you’ll make yourself sick.” He set his own plate on his lap, forking up a piece of roast chicken. “You all right?”

“Just a little shaken up,” Harry replied. “Hermione?” The girl didn’t reply, and Harry reached over and patted her on the arm. “Hermione?”

She yelped, looking over at him. “Eh? What?”

“Are you all right?” Harry said slowly.

“Fine,” she rasped, her cheeks pink. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you sort of looked death in the eyes back there,” Harry replied. “Twice, at that.”

“You saved my life,” Hermione said quietly.

Harry shrugged. “Sort of my thing.”

“That’s true,” Neville added, speaking for the first time since they had left Fluffy behind. “He saved my life, too.”

“I wonder why that dog was there in the first place,” Ron mused.

“It was guarding something,” Hermione said, still staring straight ahead. “It was standing on a trapdoor.”

Ron waved a chicken leg under Harry’s nose. “Oi. Eat.” Harry inhaled the scent and his stomach growled loudly, and Harry seized the chicken leg, ripping off a bite. “Hermione, you too. Here.” He held out a hunk of potato on a fork, but Hermione shook her head.

“If you don’t mind,” she said softly, “I think I’m going to go to bed.” She slowly ascended the stairs to the girl’s dormitories.

“She going to be all right?” Neville asked, soaking up some gravy with a piece of bread.

“I think so,” Ron replied. “Probably just shaken up by all that.”

“How are you so calm?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “I have five older brothers. It was learn to deal with disasters calmly or go barking mad.”

—ML—

November was icy cold, and Harry was silently grateful that he had learned how to charm underwear to keep warm before his jump back. As his first Quidditch match approached, Harry became increasingly grateful for his knowledge of the previous loop. Having learned it all before was the only thing letting him stay ahead of his coursework with all the practice Wood was having the Quidditch team do.

The morning of his first match was bright and cold, and Harry strolled calmly down to the Great Hall, munching on some eggs and toast quietly. “You nervous?” Hermione asked.

“Maybe a little,” Harry allowed.

“A little?” She echoed. He looked up and quirked an eyebrow at her, and she reached out and pushed up the corners of his mouth with two fingers, giving him an exaggerated smile. “C’mon, little smile?” Harry broke out into a grin, unable to resist her. “Good. You’re going to do great today.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry replied. “We’re going to win. The Slytherins don’t have a chance.”

It felt good to suit up in Gryffindor Quidditch robes again. Fred and George were making wisecracks about the Slytherins as they pulled on their robes, Angelina and Alicia talking about their coursework quietly on the other side of the locker room.

Oliver finished lacing on his shoes and cleared his throat. “This is it.”

“The big one,” said Fred Weasley.

“The one we’ve all been waiting for,” said George.

“We know Oliver’s speech by heart,” Fred told Harry, “we were on the team last year.”

“Shut up, you two,” said Wood. “This is the best team Gryffindor’s had in years. We’re going to win. I know it.”

“No sweat, Ollie,” Harry called. “Gryffs lead the way.” The others laughed, and Fred reached over, slugging Harry in the shoulder good-naturedly.

“Right. It’s time,” Oliver said, glancing at the door. “Good luck, all of you.”

Harry hooked his broom over his shoulder, walking out between Fred and George with Oliver behind him, the Chasers leading the way.

The crowd was cheering as they took the field, the players from both teams gathering around Hooch. The Slytherin beaters seemed to be trying to stare down Harry, but the boy calmly met their gaze until they gave up.

Flint sneered at Oliver. “You might as well start waving the white flag now.”

Oliver glared back at him. “The only thing I'll be waving is your decapitated head on a stick in front of your weeping mother!”

There was a long pause. “...Wood, you wanna settle down there?” Fred asked.

As the players mounted their brooms, Harry caught Oliver’s eye and gave him a nod. Hooch blew her whistle, and they took to the air.

Lee Jordan was on commentary, as usual. “And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —”

“JORDAN!”

“Sorry, Professor. And she’s really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood’s, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he’s going to sc— no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that’s Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that’s Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he’s blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can’t tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!” Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins. Harry whooped, ducking an opportunistic Bludger that zipped by.

Fred came rocketing after it, smashing the Bludger at Marcus Flint and grinning as Harry threw him a mock salute. The Boy-Who-Lived zipped into a dive, passing Fred as the Beater rejoined the game proper, spotting the Snitch zipping past one of the Slytherin Chasers.

“Potter’s gone into a dive,” Jordan called. “He must have seen the Snitch!”

The Slytherin Seeker Terrence Higgs tried to cut Harry off, but Harry dove under him, rolling on his broomstick almost casually as he zipped by. Had Higgs had time to look, he would have seen Harry crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue at him as he passed. Harry pulled up as Marcus Flint threw his broom into the way, and scowled at the boy as the Snitch threw off its momentum in mid-turn and zipped the opposite direction, out of sight. Harry hauled his broom around to pursue, but the Snitch was gone, Higgs looking equally frustrated as Harry climbed again. Another Bludger hurtled past his head, lobbed his way by one of the Slytherin beaters, and Harry felt his broom lurch under him, Quirrell making his first murder attempt. Harry slapped the back of one hand with the other, casting a strong Sticking Charm on his hand and trying to wrestle the broom back towards the ground.

“Potter seems to be having some trouble with his broom,” Lee Jordan called as the broom bucked, flying backwards and trying to throw Harry off. “Looks like interference to me. Madame Hooch?” The woman was zipping closer to Harry on her broom when a Bludger hurtled past, snapping the broomstick in half as it passed. Angelina Johnson made a diving catch as the woman fell earthward and set her down gently, immediately handing her own broom over to Hooch.

The broom gave a particularly hard lurch, and Harry yelped as he was catapulted forward, his hand staying stuck and wrenching his shoulder painfully as he went off. Both of the Weasley twins and Madame Hooch kept trying to get close enough to pull Harry to one of their brooms, but every time they approached, the Nimbus jumped higher.

“Keep going!” Harry shouted at them. “I got this!”

“Are you mental?” Fred bellowed at him.

“I got this!” Harry hollered back. “Go!” He glanced down, seeing McGonagall in the stands, glaring daggers at Quirrell. Finally, she reached up and scratched her ear, masking her mouth as she mumbled a spell.

The section of the stands Quirrell was sitting in collapsed, and Harry glanced up as his broom began to respond again, a triumphant grin on his face. He clambered back on to the broom and immediately kicked into a dive, spotting a flash of gold. “Potter’s back on his broom and he’s diving fast – has he seen the Snitch?”

The world seemed to slow around Harry as he spotted the tiny gold ball flittering past Katie Bell’s knee, the witch looking very concerned as Harry rocketed towards her. Both she and Harry rolled in opposite directions, Harry reaching out sharply for the Snitch as he passed…

And missing. The ball glanced off the back of his glove, and the world snapped back to full speed as the Slytherin Seeker nearly bounced off Katie’s head as he tried to follow Harry’s trajectory. Harry cursed under his breath as he pulled his broom around, looking to make another approach…

And then paused, as he felt something move inside his robes. “Uh-oh, looks like Potter’s in trouble again,” Jordan was saying. “He…wait, wait, he’s pulling at his robes. Potter, now is _not_ the time to be doing that!” Harry frantically pulled at his collar, reaching inside his robes and coming out with his fist held high. “He’s got the Snitch! It flew up his sleeve! Gryffindor wins, one-seventy to forty!”

Twenty minutes later, Harry was sitting in Hagrid’s hut, blowing the steam off a cup of tea large enough to bathe in. Harry momentarily considered asking Hagrid for a shot of something strong in it before Ron began talking about Snape.

“Your broom was jinxed,” Ron explained. “And it was Snape doing it. Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you.”

“Rubbish,” said Hagrid, who hadn’t heard a word of what had gone on next to him in the stands. “Why would Snape do somethin’ like that?”

“Besides the fact that he hates me, the ground I walk upon, and the air that I breathe?” Harry asked rhetorically. “I don’t think it was him, though.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“Because by the time you set him on fire, I was already back on my broom.”

Hagrid goggled at Hermione. “You set Professor Snape _on fire_?” Harry burst out laughing.

“Only a little bit!” Hermione said defensively. Neville and Ron were biting back laughter, and Hermione flicked a raisin at them. “Oh, go on then!”

“I appreciate your protective pyromania,” Harry said, resting a hand on her arm, “but I don’t think this was Snape. Oh, I’m sure he’d wring the life out of me if he thought he could get away with it, but an accident in Potions class would be much easier to explain.”

Ron looked unconvinced. “I don’t know. I still think he had something to do with it.”

Harry shrugged, before narrowing his eyes. “Hey, Hagrid, what’s the deal with that giant three-headed dog on the third floor?”

Hagrid dropped the teapot, and Neville narrowly managed to catch it before it hit the floor. “How do you know about Fluffy?” Hagrid said.

“ _Fluffy_?” Ron asked faintly. “You named a thousand-pound three-headed dog _Fluffy_?”

“Yeah — he’s mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las’ year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the —”

“Yes?” said Harry eagerly.

“Now, don’t ask me anymore,” said Hagrid gruffly. “That’s top secret, that is.”

“Wait,” Harry said, his eyes lighting up. “I get it. That package you retrieved from Gringotts. You said it had to do with Nicholas Flamel.”

“Nicholas Flamel?” Hermione asked. “The alchemist?”

“He’s the only alchemist to ever successfully create a Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry said. He looked at Hagrid. “It’s _here_ , isn’t it? The Stone is here at Hogwarts!”

Hagrid’s eyes were darting between them, looking for a way out. “I can’t say,” he managed finally.

“And Snape is trying to steal it?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry lied. “There’s not much we can do for now, though.”

—ML—

In early December, Harry opened a letter from Gringotts that seemed thicker than usual, Hedwig landing nearby and dropping off a letter for Hermione from her parents. The witch obligingly held out a piece of bacon for Hedwig, the owl nipping at her finger before taking the treat and leaving. The Boy-Who-Lived looked through the letter, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face. “Good news?” Ron asked.

“Well, I made some smart investments before the school year started, and they’re already starting to pay off,” Harry replied, not looking up from his letter. Back in August, he had had the goblins make several investments in companies that were due to make sizable profits. There may have been laws against insider trading, but nobody had thought to outlaw future knowledge of the stock and technology markets. “On top of that, the goblins have agreed to help start up a company with me.”

“You’re working with the goblins?” Neville asked. “I hear they’re pretty ruthless.”

“Well, not _working_ with them,” Harry admitted, folding up the letter. “We’re both going to lay down some start-up capital for a business.”

“What sort of business?” Hermione asked, looking up from her own letter. “You’re eleven. Aren’t you a little young to try to take over the business world?”

Harry gave a passable evil laugh, before clearing his throat. “Actually, no. You’re aware of how electronics don’t work at Hogwarts?”

“Too much magic in the air, it says so in _Hogwarts, A History_ ,” Hermione said, nodding. She looked over at Neville and Ron, who were staring blankly. “Muggles have created methods of long-distance communication that make Floo calls look ridiculous. They’re even making them portable.”

“Impressive,” Neville murmured. “So?”

“So imagine how much money could be made if we could merge Muggle technology with magic,” Harry said. “And imagine how many lives could be saved if we could figure out a way to mass-produce potions for Muggle use.”

“That would be a lot of work,” Neville mused.

Harry shrugged. “Nothing worth having ever came easy.” He figured now was as good a time as any to pitch an oddball idea he had had, and looked over at Ron. “Say, Ron, your dad likes tinkering with Muggle stuff, taking it apart, putting it back together, making it work better through magic, right?” Ron nodded. “Think he’d like to do it for a living?” The boy’s jaw dropped. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m sure I can beat the Ministry’s salary, and we could definitely set up some sort of benefits package that outdoes what the Ministry can offer. And he would certainly enjoy the work.”

“I…I…” Ron stammered. “I can certainly write him.”

“He’d be heading his department, of course,” Harry said, remembering that Arthur hadn’t headed his department until his sixth year. “The more I think about that idea, the more I like it.” Ron’s eyes were lit up. “It’d certainly be interesting.”

“What would?” Fred asked, sitting down opposite them.

“Harry’s got an idea,” Ron said faintly.

“Well, accidents will happen,” George snarked, sitting down next to his brother and popping a piece of bacon into his mouth.

“You know how Dad’s always mucking about with plugs and Muggle things?” Ron explained. Fred nodded. “Harry’s starting up a company that’s going to try to merge Muggle stuff with magic. He wants Dad to work there.”

“That’s actually a good idea,” Fred pointed out, munching on a piece of toast. “He’d love that.” He grinned at Harry. “And it’d annoy Mum, so that’s even better.”

“Mister Potter,” a voice said from behind them. Harry looked up to see McGonagall standing behind them, flanked by Flitwick and Dumbledore. “If you and Mister Weasley would come with us, there is something rather important we need to discuss.”

“Sure,” Harry said immediately as Dumbledore gave him a tiny nod. “Hermione, can you take notes for me in History of Magic?” Hermione nodded, looking concerned. “Great. We shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“What’s going on?” Ron hissed to Harry as they left the Great Hall.

“I’m not sure, but I have an idea,” Harry muttered back.

“The time has come to provide certain…evidences,” Dumbledore explained over his shoulder as they took the familiar route to Gryffindor tower. “Mister Weasley, is your rat still in your dormitory?”

“Scabbers?” Ron looked confused. “Yeah, he ought to be there. Why?”

“All right, quick history lesson,” Harry said. “You know how my parents went into hiding?” Ron nodded. “They were under a Fidelius charm, which means the only person who could have sold them out to Voldemort, oh, don’t flinch, it’s a ruddy name, was the person who was their Secret-Keeper. As far as the public knew, that was Sirius Black, my godfather.”

“Your godfather sold them out?” Ron asked, aghast.

“No, and that’s the rub,” Harry explained. “At the last moment, Sirius convinced my dad that he would be too obvious a choice, and he had them choose another friend of theirs, Peter Pettigrew. After my parents were killed, Sirius went after Pettigrew, knowing he was the only one who could have sold them out. Pettigrew is still alive, but he faked his death and framed Sirius for his murder, my parents’ deaths, and the murder of twelve innocent Muggles who were unlucky enough to be nearby when Sirius caught up to him.”

Ron stared at him. “So where’s Pettigrew, and what does it have to do with Scabbers?”

“My father was an Animagus,” Harry said. “So is Sirius Black. So is Pettigrew. Pettigrew can become a rat.”

“You mean…” Ron paled. “Scabbers?” His face twisted. “Oh, Merlin, I’ve let him sleep in my bed with me! He’s a human? He’s been with my family for years! He’s…oh, _Merlin_!” He looked increasingly horrified.

“I didn’t want to just spring this on you by taking your rat, Ron,” Harry said softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Ron wailed. “Eugh! He’s seen me naked! He’s seen half my family naked!”

“My parents left behind memories that explained how they chose Pettigrew, not Sirius. That _could_ get him out of prison, but if we can catch Pettigrew, we can exonerate my godfather, get him out of Azkaban, and put the man _really_ responsible for my parents dying behind bars,” Harry said fiercely. “Are you in?”

Ron didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. We’re mates. I’m behind you all the way.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks, Ron.” The two bumped fists as they came to the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Headmaster,” the Fat Lady greeted them. “What a welcome surprise! It’s always nice to see you.”

“Lovely as always, my dear,” Dumbledore replied.

“What brings you down here?”

“Catching a murderer,” Albus said pleasantly. The Fat Lady’s eyes bugged out. “Would you mind terribly letting us in?”

“Of course!” The portrait swung open, and the teachers moved in, wands at the ready.

“Clear the room,” Dumbledore ordered, the professors spreading out in a practiced motion, wands at the ready. Ron and Harry kept close together behind them, Ron fingering his wand nervously. “No sign of him?” The other two shook their heads. “Very well. First-year’s dormitory.” Flitwick led the way, the tiny professor practically buzzing with mustered power as he climbed the stairs. The trio of professors stacked up outside the dormitory, McGonagall reaching for the handle and nodding to Flitwick.

The Charms professor’s cheerful expression was gone, replaced by a stony scowl, and as the door opened, he swung into the room, red light flaring from his wand and flooding the room. A faint squeak was heard from one corner of the room, and Flitwick murmured under his breath, an unconscious Scabbers flying into his hand. “This him?” the professor asked.

“That’s him,” Ron said faintly. “Are you sure he’s an Animagus?”

“There’s a spell,” Flitwick explained, pulling a jar from his pocket and stuffing the rat inside. “If performed on a non-animagus, the spell will have no effect and will not harm the animal. If it is an Animagus…it will revert them to human form.”

“This would perhaps best be done in my office,” Dumbledore commented.

—ML—

Dumbledore’s office only was a short walk away, and the Headmaster nodded to the gargoyle. “Ice Mice.” The gargoyle leapt aside, and the group mounted the stairs, emerging into Dumbledore’s office.

“Minerva, if you would be so kind as to assist me with this,” Dumbledore said quietly, gesturing at the unconscious rat. “Filius, please be ready to subdue Pettigrew if the need arises.”

“With pleasure,” Flitwick said coldly, unscrewing the lid on the jar and unceremoniously dumping Scabbers onto the floor. His wand flicked, and the rat remained still, but a haze of magic settled over a few square meters around the creature.

“On the count of three,” Dumbledore ordered. “One — two — _three_.” A flash of blue-white light erupted from both wands; for a moment, Scabbers was frozen on the floor, his small gray form twisting madly. Ron gasped in horror, sure he was about to see the demise of his pet rat, and there was another blinding flash of light.

Harry had only seen the spell take effect once before, but it was just as bizarre. There was none of the grace of a usual Animagus transformation as the rat was forcibly returned to human form, Peter Pettigrew laying on the floor in front of them. McGonagall and Dumbledore muttered quietly, several spells layering atop Flitwick’s. “I had best call Remus,” Dumbledore murmured, taking a pinch of Floo powder from a vase atop the fireplace and calling an address into the flames, before sticking his head through. A few moments later, he emerged, brushing himself off. “He’ll be just a moment.”

It took less than a minute for Remus Lupin to step through. Harry blanched when he did. Remus had looked rough when Harry had first met him, appearing ill and exhausted. Harry never would have guessed that his shabby appearance on the train was an improvement. The Remus Lupin that stood in front of him wore shabby and stained robes, and his eyes were sunken and bloodshot. His hair and beard were messy and untrimmed, and the man’s skin was pale and waxy.

“Remus, thank you for coming,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“What did you need, Albus,” Remus rasped. His eyes darted among the others in the office, widening when he spotted Harry. Unlike most people Harry had met, the man’s eyes stayed rooted on his, rather than flicking upwards to his scar.

A long stream of emotions flooded through the man’s face in a few seconds – shock, fear, anger, and shame. Remus turned away, looking to Dumbledore. “You didn’t tell me he was here.”

“He’s not the one I asked you here to see,” Dumbledore replied.

“Hello, Remus,” Harry said softly.

“I don’t…don’t deserve…” the man shuffled, moving back towards the fire.

“Sirius didn’t do it,” Harry called. Remus froze, looking back at him. “He didn’t sell my parents out.”

“What are you talking about?” Remus asked, his voice ragged. “He was their Secret-Keeper.”

Harry shook his head. “Pettigrew was.” He pointed at the man on the floor, and Remus came around Dumbledore’s desk, his eyes bugging out as he spotted Pettigrew on the floor. Remus stared at the traitor for all of two seconds before reaching for his wand. Harry drew first, muttering “ _Expelliarmus_ ,” and catching Remus’s wand as it jumped from his hand. “We caught him,” Harry said. “Sirius is innocent, and we can prove it.”

Remus slumped against the edge of Dumbledore’s desk. “Oh, dear.” He pressed a hand to his head. “This…this is a lot to take in.”

“Take it slow,” Harry said. “There’s just one thing, though.” Remus looked up just in time for Harry to wrap him in a tight hug, ignoring the sour smell of the man’s body odor. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

The man froze, glancing between McGonagall and Dumbledore nervously. Slowly, hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, returning the boy’s hug. A muffled sob came from Harry, and Remus’s face softened. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Harry mumbled into Remus’s midsection. “I know what you have to deal with. It’s all right. I’m just glad you’re here.” Several minutes passed as the two embraced, and eventually Harry pulled back, wiping his eyes and smiling faintly before extending a hand. “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Harry James Potter.”

Remus grinned, shaking Harry’s hand as he wiped away his own tears. “Remus J. Lupin. Pleased to meet you.”

“Let’s get that old hound out of lockup, shall we?” Harry said.

Remus stood straighter, a new fire in his eyes. “Too right. Albus, what do we need to do?”

“I’ve done most of the legwork already,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I felt you would want to be present when it all came together. Harry, what classes do you have today?”

Harry managed a grin. “Charms and Transfiguration. Oh, and Quidditch practice this evening.”

Remus looked down at him. “You play?”

“He’s phenomenal,” McGonagall said proudly. “As good as his father, if not better.”

“Youngest Seeker in a century,” Harry chimed in. “And so far, undefeated.”

“It’s only been one game,” Flitwick pointed out.

Harry winked at him. “Still counts!”

“We have memory strands from Lily and James, testifying that Pettigrew was the Secret-Keeper,” Dumbledore said. “Between that and our actually apprehending the man, Sirius should be released immediately.”

“First things first,” Remus growled, striding over to Pettigrew. Flitwick raised his wand to stop him, but Remus raised a hand. “I’m not going to kill him.”

“He’s Stunned and immobilized,” Flitwick replied.

“Wake him up,” Remus ordered. Flitwick revived him, and Pettigrew’s eyes flicked open, bugging out as he spotted Remus.

“Well, hello, Peter,” said Lupin pleasantly, although his smile was less friendly and more sharklike. “Long time, no see.” His smile fled, replaced by an angry snarl. “You should have died. Died, rather than betray your friends, your _family_ , Peter. Any of us would have given our lives for you.” Remus reached down, ripping open the sleeve of Pettigrew’s ragged coat and exposing the Dark Mark branded on the man’s arm. “You owe me four lives, Peter. James. Lily. The lifetime that Sirius has spent in Azkaban. And the lifetime you stole from Harry when you handed his parents over to Voldemort. I only wish I could wring them out of you myself.”

“Don’t, Remus,” Harry said softly. “Don’t stain your soul with his filth.”

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Remus replied. “I won’t. Sirius deserves first crack at him, anyway.” He looked to Dumbledore as Harry casually Stunned Pettigrew. “Can you give me twenty minutes, and we can go to the Ministry together?”

“Of course,” Albus said. “Mister Weasley, you should get to your classes. Minerva, I believe you have classes to teach as well. Harry, Filius, if you would remain?”

“You’d have to drag me out of here,” Harry replied. “Catch you later, Ron?”

“Good luck, Harry,” Ron said with a grin. The two bumped fists, and Ron left with McGonagall.

Remus disappeared through the Floo, and Dumbledore stared at Pettigrew for a long time, before shaking his head. “I should have known James and Lily would have done something like that,” he finally said. “I should have known.”

“It was Sirius’s idea,” Harry chided. “I don’t think anyone could predict what’s in his head. Even him.”

“Do you plan to tell them?” Dumbledore asked. “About everything?”

“Someday, yes,” Harry said softly. “Not immediately, though. They’ve been through a lot, they need to clean up and readjust to the real world…” He scratched his chin. “I’ll need to get them keys for my flat in Diagon Alley, of course, and some money so they can eat something besides takeout.”

Dumbledore was giving him that grandfatherly smile. “You are a very interesting boy, Harry. After all you’ve been through, your first thought was of how it would affect them.”

Harry shrugged. “They’re my family. Both of them. They deserve better than they have.”

“As is true all too often,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry nodded, thinking to himself. “Oh, crikey, I just remembered. Hagrid’s going to get a dragon egg sometime soon.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened. “A dragon egg? You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Harry replied. “It’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. We smuggled it out of the castle to Ron’s brother Charlie, but got caught and sent into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid for detention.”

“Well, that won’t do,” Dumbledore mumbled. “We’ll have to intercept that as soon as possible.”

“As much as I like the idea of making the dragon a defender of Hogwarts, that would be far too dangerous,” Harry replied. “I mean, it would stop him from getting something even _more_ dangerous, but…” Harry paused. “Wait, you know that he’s innocent, right? He didn’t kill Myrtle back when he was a student.”

“I _know_ that he’s innocent, yes,” Dumbledore admitted. “But I can’t _prove_ it. Lacking solid proof of his innocence, I can’t get his expulsion overturned.”

The two exchanged plans, ideas, and advice for a while longer, until the fire flared green again and Remus stepped through, his hair clean and combed and his beard neatly trimmed. His robes were still shabby, but the man stood straighter and looked more like the Remus that Harry remembered. “Let’s go get my friend back.”

—ML—

The Ministry of Magic was actually rather nice during the day, although Harry had never come there under pleasant circumstances. Pettigrew had been left under a trio of Stunning Spells and a dozen different bindings, as well as Flitwick’s watchful gaze. Remus, Dumbledore, and Harry took a Floo to an established point near the Ministry’s visitor’s entrance, Harry spilling out of the fireplace and hitting the floor with a pained grunt.

“You all right, Harry?” Remus asked.

“I’m alright,” the boy mumbled, face-down on the stone floor. “Broke my fall with my face.” Remus hauled him to his feet. “Just bruised my dignity.”

“Take it from me, dignity’s overrated,” Remus replied.

Harry rubbed his bruised nose, silently grateful he hadn’t broken his glasses. “Let’s go.”

It was impossible to fit all three of them through the phone booth at the same time, so Dumbledore went first, working the dial and calmly speaking into the receiver. He vanished a moment later, the booth appearing completely empty as it had before.

“Us next, Harry, come on,” Remus urged. They crammed themselves into the booth. Luckily, Remus was thinner than Arthur Weasley had been, and Harry was far shorter and thinner than he had been in his fifth year, so the fit wasn’t nearly as tight. Remus mumbled to himself as he dialed the phone, holding the receiver to his ear. The cool female voice Harry remembered sounded inside the telephone box.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Remus Lupin, here to correct a miscarriage of justice,” Remus said.

“Harry Potter, professional wise-ass,” Harry added. Remus snorted out a laugh. The two badges clattered into the metal chute, and Harry fished them out. Remus’s read “Remus Lupin, Miscarriage of Justice,” and the werewolf snickered as he pinned it to his robes. Harry pinned on his that read “Harry Potter, Professional Wise-Ass,” with no small measure of pride.

The voice sounded again as they sank into the ground. “Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

Albus was waiting quietly for them at the entrance, his eyes twinkling as he saw their badges. His own simply read “Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts Headmaster, et. al.”

They passed the ridiculous statue in the Fountain of Magical Brethren, and Harry paused long enough to flip a Galleon into the water. The trio strode purposefully towards the security desk, a young wizard folding up his paper as they approached. His eyes bugged out as he recognized Dumbledore. “Headmaster! Er…Professor!”

“Relax, Brian,” Dumbledore said. “You’re no longer my student. Enjoying your work?”

“It pays the bills,” Brian replied. “How’s the school?”

“Better every year,” Dumbledore said proudly, passing over his wand. “Remus, Harry, you as well.” The other two passed over their wands, and the man did a double-take as he recognized Harry’s name.

“What brings you here?” Brian blurted out before he could stop himself.

“There’s an innocent man in Azkaban,” Harry said as another wizard waved him down with some sort of magical security wand. “We’re here to get him released.”

“Oh. Well, good on you.” The man handed their wands back, before pointing through the gates. “Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s that way, on level two. Professor Dumbledore knows the way.”

“Cheers,” Harry called over his shoulder as they entered the stream of wizards and witches entering the gates. The lifts were packed, but the Ministry workers gave Dumbledore a respectful berth as they entered, memos zooming in and out over their heads as they moved through the different levels of the building.

They entered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, cutting through the Auror bullpen as they went. A few of the Aurors took notice and waved or greeted Dumbledore, who exchanged varying levels of small talk with them as they went. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood up as they approached Amelia Bones’ office, looking slightly heavier than Harry remembered. “Albus! Good to see you!”

“Kingsley,” Dumbledore replied with a broad smile. “You’ve lost some weight.”

“The Aurors have me running a lot more,” Kingsley said proudly. “I’m getting in better shape every day.” He spotted Remus. “Lupin. Merlin’s breath, it’s good to see you.”

“Shack,” Remus said tiredly. “Sirius is innocent.”

Shacklebolt paused. “Beg your pardon?”

“Pettigrew’s alive,” Remus breathed. “He framed Black. We have Pettigrew in custody at Hogwarts.” Kingsley’s eyes widened. “We’re going to talk to Amelia right now, but grab a few Aurors and be ready to go to Hogwarts to pick the scum up. And be careful – he’s an unregistered Animagus.”

Dumbledore had already reached Amelia Bones’ door, and knocked politely. “Come!” Remus and Harry caught up to him quickly, and the trio entered the office. Amelia looked up, giving Albus a respectful nod. “Albus. Welcome.”

“Amelia,” Dumbledore greeted. “Thank you for seeing us.”

“The memory strands you provided certainly clear Black of turning the Potters over to You-Know-Who, but not for Pettigrew’s murder, or the twelve Muggles that died with him,” she said. “I take it you have something more.”

“What if we provided you with Peter Pettigrew, alive, breathing, and able to answer questions?” Dumbledore asked. “Would that be proof enough to exonerate Sirius?”

Amelia stared at him. “You feeling all right, Albus?”

“Peter Pettigrew is currently alive, Stunned, and immobilized in my office at Hogwarts, with Filius Flitwick guarding him,” Dumbledore declared. “He’s an unregistered Animagus. I’m not sure what exactly happened on that street between him and Black, but Pettigrew is alive. That alone should be enough to have Sirius brought from Azkaban to here for a judicial review.”

Amelia nodded. “I’ll send some Aurors to collect both of them immediately.” She stood, opening the door to her office. “Shacklebolt!” The big man appeared in seconds, already geared up. “Take Dawlish and Savage with you. Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office. Professor Flitwick’s looking after him. Be careful, the man’s an Animagus. Proudfoot!” Another Auror appeared. “Take Williamson, go to Azkaban. Check out Sirius Black for transport, tell him his case is up for review.”

“Black?” Proudfoot asked. “Really?”

“Go!”

It didn’t take long. Pettigrew was dragged to a holding cell, Stunned and under a dozen different binding spells as Sirius was checked out of Azkaban. “We’ve got a lot of paperwork ahead of us,” Amelia admitted as she glared at the unconscious man in the cell. “Black was never given a trial. Barty Crouch might have a stroke when he finds out Black is innocent. I just hope he has enough of his mind left to enjoy his freedom.”

“Black is an Animagus,” Remus said. “His alternate form may have given him some respite.”

“He’s unregistered?” Amelia asked. “Interesting. Well, we can deal with that as time served. That, plus Black’s service during the war…”

“He was fifteen when he mastered it,” Remus said stiffly.

Amelia looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. “Fifteen? Well then. What’s his form?”

“Big black dog,” Remus grunted, clearly uncomfortable with her line of questioning. “Size of a small bear.”

The woman pressed a hand to her forehead. “Sirius Black is a big black dog. I suppose with a name like that, if he had wound up as anything else it would have been more surprising.”

Harry caught Dumbledore’s eye and nodded. “Ah, Amelia, while we’re on the subject,” Dumbledore chimed in. “I believe we’ve uncovered another unregistered Animagus. You’re familiar with Rita Skeeter?”

Amelia scowled. “I hope you know you’ve filled up my entire week, now. We’ll put a tail on her. If she reveals the ability, we’ll arrest her immediately. We’ll give Pettigrew a fair trial.”

“More than he deserves,” Remus growled.

“Amelia, what’s going on here?” A new voice demanded. Harry turned, trying to hide his frown when he spotted Cornelius Fudge approaching. “What’s this I hear about you removing Sirius Black from Azkaban?”

“Minister,” Amelia said neutrally.

“What in blazes would make you bring a dangerous felon like that here?” Fudge demanded.

“Proof of his innocence, for one thing,” Amelia replied.

Fudge blinked in surprise. “Ridiculous. He was convicted of murdering thirteen people.”

“No, Cornelius, he was not,” Albus said serenely. “He was thrown in Azkaban without trial. Peter Pettigrew lives, and is in that holding cell.”

Fudge stared at him. “Impossible. Pettigrew was blown up. All we found was a finger!”

“And you’ll notice that Pettigrew is missing a finger,” Dumbledore replied. “We have memory strands from the Potters saying that Pettigrew, not Black, was the only one who knew their location. _Pettigrew_ sold them out, not Black. Black never received a trial.”

“This is a catastrophe,” Fudge whispered. “If word gets out about this, Albus…”

“Then you’ll be highlighted as the man who ended a grievous miscarriage of justice,” Harry chimed in. “You weren’t Minister when Sirius was imprisoned. All you have to do is make sure that you use what Pettigrew talks about to advantage.”

Fudge paused. “What do you mean, what Pettigrew talks about?”

“Pettigrew is facing charges of murder, treason, and being an unregistered Animagus,” Harry explained. “Do you think he won’t be in a hurry to save his own skin? He’ll sell out every Death Eater that claimed to be bewitched and wasn’t.”

Fudge rubbed his chin. “I see. Who are you, boy?”

Harry flipped up his bangs to show his scar. “Harry Potter. Sirius Black is my godfather. When I found out he was innocent, I passed the evidence on to Professor Dumbledore.”

“We managed to apprehend Pettigrew at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore broke in. “The Aurors collected him, and when Black is interrogated properly, I’m sure his story will match up.”

Fudge nodded grimly. “We’ll have to verify their stories, of course. What’s the delay in getting him here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	4. Chapter 4

“What is your name?”

“Sirius Orion Black.”

“When were you born?”

“November 3, 1959.”

“What school did you attend?”

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“What House were you in?”

“Gryffindor.”

The interrogator nodded. “The Veritaserum is working. He’s ready.”

Amelia nodded her thanks. “Let’s find out what happened.”

The interrogator cleared his throat. “Did you betray James and Lily Potter to You-Know-Who?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“How?”

“James, Lily, and little Harry were under a Fidelius Charm, which meant they could only be found by someone who had received the information from their Secret-Keeper. Officially, I was to be the one, but at the last moment I convinced James to choose Peter instead. I felt I would be too obvious a choice, and we suspected Remus was the spy among us. The night James and Lily died, I had arranged to check on Peter, make sure he was still safe. But when I arrived at his hiding place, he had gone. Yet there was no sign of a struggle. It feel wrong. I was scared. I set out for the Potter house straight away. And when I saw their house destroyed, and their bodies… I realized what Peter must have done… what I had done…”

The interrogator grimaced. “What happened to Peter Pettigrew?”

“I tracked him down the next day, November 1,” Sirius continued. “I intended to murder him, to avenge Lily and James. I confronted him on a city street, but he shouted that it was me who had betrayed the Potters and blew up the street. I don’t know whether he survived.”

Amelia murmured into the interrogator’s ear. The man nodded. “Are you an Animagus?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been one?”

“Since 1976.”

“Thank you, Sirius,” the interrogator said quietly. “No more questions.”

“Is Harry all right?” Sirius asked, still under the influence of the potion.

“He is. He brought the evidence that made us take a look at your case,” Amelia said. “Give him the antidote and put him in a holding cell.” After Black had left the room, Amelia manipulated a rune cluster on the wall. Dumbledore, Fudge, and Harry flickered into view as the concealment charm went down. “On that testimony alone we could convict Pettigrew. Minister Fudge, do I have permission to use Veritaserum on him?”

“Granted,” Fudge declared, his jaw firm. “Get him in here.”

Amelia gave the order, before looking to the interrogator. “You all right to question Pettigrew?”

“Absolutely,” the man said firmly. “To think, that berk got an Order of Merlin…”

There was a knock at the door, and Amelia manipulated the rune cluster again as an unconscious Pettigrew was dragged in. The Veritaserum was administered, and Amelia flicked her wand at him, muttering “ _Ennervate_.”

“What is your name?” the interrogator asked.

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“When were you born?”

“August 9, 1960.”

“What school did you attend?”

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“What House were you in?”

“Gryffindor.”

The interrogator nodded. “The Veritaserum is working. He’s ready.”

“Do it.”

The interrogator cleared his throat. “Did you betray James and Lily Potter to You-Know-Who?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“The Potters were to hide under a Fidelius Charm. I was their Secret-Keeper. The Dark Lord was searching for them. At the last moment, Sirius Black convinced James to choose me as their Secret-Keeper instead of him. I passed the secret on.”

“Why?”

“Resistance was futile,” Pettigrew said. “There was nothing to be gained by opposing him. I began passing information, and later took the Dark Mark.”

“Did you willingly take the Dark Mark?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know others who were also willing followers of You-Know-Who?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Every person who took the Dark Mark was a member of his inner circle. It was considered a great honor among his followers. Nobody under the Imperius would have received one.”

Amelia’s eyes widened, and she glanced at the rune panel on the wall to ensure it was still recording, before she bent to whisper in the interrogator’s ear. “What happened on the night of October 31, 1981?”

“The Dark Lord went to the Potter’s cottage at Godric’s Hollow. What exactly transpired, I do not know. I felt him fall and arrived at the house ahead of anyone else. I found the house destroyed, and recovered his wand, as the Ministry might have discovered me through inspecting it. I passed it to Lucius Malfoy, who promised to hide it until the Dark Lord returned. I did not know if he still lives, but on multiple occasions he stated he had discovered the secret to immortality.”

“Impossible,” Harry heard Fudge mutter next to him. Dumbledore and Harry spared an irritated glance for the man before looking back to the interrogation.

“What happened between you and Sirius Black on November 1, 1981?”

“Sirius Black was the only person who knew that I had been the Secret-Keeper. He managed to track me down. As he closed in on me, I screamed that Sirius had betrayed the Potters and blew up the street with a Blasting Curse. I severed my finger to fake my death and transformed into a rat, escaping through the sewers.”

“Are you an Animagus?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you been one?”

“Since 1976.”

“What is your form?”

“A common black rat.”

“No further questions,” the interrogator said stiffly, his fists clenched on the table. Amelia silently Stunned Pettigrew again.

“That’s about as conclusive as it gets,” Amelia commented as Pettigrew was dragged back to a holding cell. “Minister?”

“There’ll have to be a trial, of course,” Fudge blustered. “For Pettigrew, I mean, Black is obviously innocent – can’t fathom how he never got a trial before.”

“Looks like you’ll have to do a shakedown of the Ministry,” Amelia suggested. “Question everyone.” She removed her monocle, wiping it with a handkerchief. “I suggest we start with Barty.”

“Crouch?” Fudge asked. “What the devil for?”

Amelia stared at him. “Because he was the one who sent Black to Azkaban without a trial. Who knows how many others are wrongfully imprisoned?”

Fudge seemed uncertain. “A brave thing you are doing,” Dumbledore remarked casually, “taking it upon yourself to root out the corruption in the Ministry. You’ll be a hero for this.”

Fudge glanced over. “Hm? Oh, yes, we certainly can’t allow these abuses to continue. Get Black back in here. I want to speak to him.”

Soon after, Sirius Black was staring down Fudge, who looked intensely uncomfortable at the man’s smell. Or possibly constipated from a rich diet. With his hair and beard wild and unwashed hanging to his elbows, his skin pale and waxy, stretched tightly over his face, and his frame gaunt from lack of proper nourishment, Sirius barely looked human. The thick manacles around his wrists looked almost ridiculous by comparison. “Sirius Black,” Fudge said finally.

“You got a purty mouth,” Sirius rasped, his yellow teeth bared in a grin. Fudge blanched, and Sirius laughed, sounding as though he hadn’t done it in a while. “Sorry. It’s been a while. Why am I here?”

Fudge pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ve recently uncovered evidence that you were wrongfully imprisoned.”

“What evidence?”

“Pettigrew’s breathing body and a confession, for starters,” Fudge replied. “Memory strands from James and Lily Potter stating you were not their Secret-Keeper, for another.”

Sirius paused. “I’m sorry, all the screaming in Azkaban has made my ears ring a bit. Did you say Pettigrew’s alive?” Fudge nodded. “And I’m still accused of murdering him, right?” Another nod. “Could I have five minutes alone with him to make that charge legitimate?”

Harry stifled a snort, still concealed behind the barrier. “I’m afraid not,” Fudge replied calmly. “You’re to be exonerated, publicly. Pettigrew will stand trial for his crimes. We’ll be conducting a review of –”

Sirius waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, internal corruption, big scandal, nothing new, rhubarb rhubarb, whatever. Is Harry all right?”

“He’s fine,” Fudge said.

“Can I see him?”

Fudge paused. “Are you sure you want to?” Sirius looked confused. “I would think you should get yourself cleaned up a bit first.”

“I’ve spent ten years in prison, I can wait a little longer without a shower,” Sirius insisted. “Can I see Harry?”

There was a knock at the door, and Remus entered. “Padfoot.”

“Remus,” Sirius said softly. “You look like shite.”

The wolf grinned. “You haven’t lost your devilish good looks.”

Sirius managed a smile. “Ten years in prison can only do so much, starting from where I did. Is Harry…” he paused. “He’d be at school now, wouldn’t he? It’s been ten years?”

“About, yeah,” Remus replied. “They’re getting your personal belongings now. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Amelia entered the room. “I don’t think these are necessary anymore.” She tapped the manacles with her wand and the chains dropped away, Sirius standing up slowly and looking down at his hands. “Welcome back to the world, Mister Black.”

“I don’t think you’ll need me any longer,” Fudge said, grabbing his hat. “I must be going. Lots of work to do.” Nobody replied as he left.

“You got a place to stay?” Sirius asked Remus.

Remus chuckled. “You’re just getting out of prison and you’re asking _me_ if I have a place to stay?”

“Well where have you been the past decade?” Sirius asked. “That flat in Diagon Alley?”

Remus’s smile faded. “Mostly? I’ve been at the bottom of a bottle. Albus has been trying to clean me up.”

“Where is the old buzzard, anyway?’

Albus manipulated the rune cluster, dropping the barrier. “I am here, Sirius.”

The man turned around, spotting him. “I suppose I have you to thank for getting me out?”

“I did the paperwork, yes, but if not for Harry we might never have known.”

Sirius perked up at the name. “Where is he? Is he here? At school?”

“Harry?”

Harry slowly stepped out, looking up at him. “Sirius, I know you’ve been in prison a long time, but telling the Minister how purty his mouth is _might_ have been over the line. Way to stay classy, Padfoot.”

Sirius gave a snort that grew into a shoulder-shaking laugh, and the man leaned on the table for support. The laughter continued, but a few moments later Sirius gave a wrenching sob and collapsed against the table, his face in his hands. Remus was at his side in seconds. “Easy, Padfoot. Easy. It’s all right.”

“Is it?” Sirius asked bitterly. “It was me, Remus! I told them to use Peter! I might as well have killed them myself! I thought _you_ were the spy!”

“And I thought you were the spy as well,” Remus replied. “Sirius, I spent the last decade thinking the worst of you and trying to drink myself to death when I should have been taking care of Harry. For the first few years after that night, I was barely even human. Harry made it out. He’s gone, Padfoot, he’s _gone_. We won.”

“He’s not gone,” Harry said softly. Remus flinched, looking at him in shock. “He’s still out there. But we know how to beat him for good now.”

Sirius scrubbed at his face with his filthy sleeve, clearing his throat. “I…hello, Harry. I’m Sirius.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I know who you are, you old hound. Get over here and give me a hug.”

Sirius had spent a decade in prison and it showed in how bad he smelled when Harry hugged him, but the Boy-Who-Lived squeezed his godfather into a tight hug until his back popped anyway. “Come on,” Harry said. “There’s a flat in Diagon Alley that’s got rooms for both of you. And I’m not letting either of you knuckleheads out of my sight until we get there, you hear?”

“You suddenly feel like Lily’s back?” Remus asked as Harry grabbed them both by the arms, hauling them out the door as efficiently as an eleven-year-old could.

—ML—

It took most of the rest of the day to get Sirius and Remus settled into Harry’s flat, and a good ten minutes after they showed up for Fleamont to stop screaming in horror at Sirius’s appearance. Remus’s health was questionable between his lycanthropy and alcoholism, and Sirius had been without proper nourishment or exercise for the better part of a decade. By the time he had gotten through a bath, a haircut, and a shave, Harry and Dumbledore had picked up a regimen of potions for both him and Remus to get them back into good health. After the Boy-Who-Lived gave both men a stern warning to stay out of trouble and filled them in on the events at Hogwarts, Harry returned to Hogwarts with Dumbledore and collapsed into a chair in the Gryffindor common room.

He was dozing when people began filtering in, dropping off bookbags and starting homework before dinner. “There he is,” Seamus said. “Wonder why he was playing hooky all day?”

“Long story,” Ron mumbled, poking Harry in the shoulder. “Oi. Harry. Wake up.”

Harry grunted, not lifting his head. “M’wake. What’s up?”

“Not you, clearly,” Ron snarked. “Everything go all right at the Ministry?”

“Peachy,” Harry said with a yawn. “Your rat is facing life in prison. I owe you a new pet.”

“He feeling all right?” Seamus asked quietly.

“I told you it was a long story,” Ron replied. “Glad to hear it went well, though.”

—ML—

In mid-December, it was hard for Harry not to grin as Quirrell stumbled by. The snowballs the Weasley twins had bewitched were bouncing off the back of his turban, and Harry momentarily realized the two had never realized what they had done to Voldemort.

The castle was just as cold and drafty as before, and the Gryffindors layered up as they headed down for Potions class. Snape was as pleasant as always, hovering over the students waiting for them to make a mistake so he could berate them in front of the entire class. Harry made do with mumbled warnings to Neville or Seamus as the opportunities presented themselves, but could only do so much as Snape stood directly behind him, the greasy man eyeing him imperiously.

“Potter! Is that powdered lionfish spine fresh enough?”

“Appears to be, Professor,” Harry replied calmly. “Was bought fresh last week.”

“Don’t assume, boy, make sure,” Snape hissed. Harry frowned, and was about to reply when a sizzling came from Neville’s cauldron and the boy leapt back, the potion spreading across the floor. Hermione, who was partnered with him, pulled back sharply as her sleeve smoked, spattered by the caustic result. “Idiot boy! You don’t add the newt liver until after you put in the beetle wings! Ten points from Gryffindor!”

Neville was perched on top of his stool, his face pale as he tried not to make eye contact with Snape. Harry glared at the man, the Potions master flicking his wand at the spilled potion and vanishing it.

Hermione patted him on the arm soothingly, pulling out her own cauldron. Ignoring the new holes in her sleeve, she quickly lit the cauldron and set out to work with Neville, doing her best to catch them up.

Ron was fuming quietly as they left Potions. “Ponce was deliberately trying to mess us up. It was just bad luck that Neville was right next to us.”

“Not your fault, Nev,” Harry agreed. The blond seemed unsure. “If you hadn’t done that, he’d have found some other reason to take points. And if he hadn’t found a reason, he’d have made one up.”

“So when are you heading out?” Ron asked, trying to change the subject.

“After the last lesson,” Harry replied. “You sure you don’t want to come along?”

Ron shook his head. “I’ll have the dormitory to myself. It’ll be a lark. Besides, my parents will be in Romania, visiting my brother Charlie.”

Harry nodded. “Well, I hope your present arrives in time.” Ron glanced over. “What, you didn’t think I’d have gotten you something?”

The redhead kicked the ground. “I…I dunno.”

“Come off it, you’re my best mate,” Harry scoffed.

“Hey, I thought I was,” Neville said with mock indignation.

“So did I!” Hermione added.

“Do either of you wrestle dragons for fun?” Harry asked.

“I’m working my way up from wyverns,” Neville offered.

“Close, but not quite.” Harry turned the corner and nearly collided with a massive fir tree that blocked the corridor ahead. “Either the Forbidden Forest has gone walkabout, or Hagrid’s on the other side of this.” He thrust his arm through the tree and prodded, a surprised squawk coming from the other side. “Hi, Hagrid!”

“Need any help?” Ron asked, looking up as the half-giant’s face appeared around the edge of the tree.

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind them. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”

Ron was about ready to dive at Malfoy, but Harry intervened. “Palaces are nice, but it doesn’t matter much how big your house is when your parents got them by gobbing off a Dark wizard.” The boy’s mouth dropped open in shock, and Harry glared at him. “I’ve tried to be civil with you, but you really are a right arse.”

Malfoy drew his wand just as Snape came up the stairs behind him. “You’ll pay for that, Scarhead-”

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Neville said pleasantly. “I wanted to apologize for that incident in class today. It won’t happen again.”

It was hard to tell whether Snape, Malfoy, or Harry was more thrown by the sudden shift. “I…see that it doesn’t, Longbottom,” Snape replied finally. “I have no intention of cleaning up more of your messes.” He glanced down at Malfoy, who had paused, his wand half-raised. “Move along, all of you.” Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere as Snape took a side corridor.

“I’ll get him,” Ron growled, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, “one of these days, I’ll get him —”

“I hate them both,” said Harry, “Malfoy and Snape.”

“Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,” said Hagrid. “Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations. “Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?”

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“Just the one,” Harry replied, glancing over at Neville. “Nev, that was impressive.”

Neville shrugged. “I just asked myself ‘what would Harry do?’”

“That wasn’t what I would have done,” Harry admitted.

“I didn’t say I _did_ it, I just _thought_ about it,” Neville replied brightly.

“Everyone’s a comedian,” Hagrid grumped.

—ML—

Errol dropped the letter in Molly’s lap and shuffled into his cage to take a nap. The Weasley matriarch opened the letter, expecting a note from Percy. As she read through the letter, she could feel her temper rising, until she ripped open her knitting basket and set to work.

By the time Arthur opened the kitchen door and entered the room, Molly was halfway done. He walked past the sitting room, before pausing and poking his head in. “You’re knitting a sweater?”

“I am.”

“I thought you had finished all the sweaters for this year.”

“I had. I have to make one more,” Molly said tartly.

Arthur paused. “Did we get another kid while I was at work?”

Molly huffed out a breath. “Yes. Ron’s little friend Harry. If I get this done by tomorrow morning I can make a batch of fudge and send Errol back with them.” She held out the letter for Arthur to read.

The man only took a few moments to read his youngest son’s letter, before harrumphing. “I’ll get started on the fudge. Not expecting presents, indeed…”

—ML—

“You’ve got my number, right?” Harry asked as the train came to a halt. Hermione nodded. “And don’t worry, it’ll work in Diagon Alley. There’s too much magic in the air around Hogwarts, but in the Alley electronics work just fine.”

“You’re sure?” She asked.

“They better,” Harry muttered. “Otherwise my presents for Sirius and Remus are going to be giant paperweights.” Hermione giggled. “I got lucky that the goblins have connections in the Muggle world, or I’d have had to cart it all home myself.”

“What’d you get them?” Neville asked, idly flipping through a magazine.

“Giant television and stereo system,” Harry replied. “It’s…” He paused. “Hermione? Help?”

“Big entertainment box,” Hermione said. Neville nodded, understanding the primal need all men have for big expensive electronics.

“Speaking of which,” Harry added, standing up and rooting around in his trunk, “I should give you these before I forget.” He held out two wrapped packages for his friends. “Ron’s is still on the way.”

“What’d you get him?” Hermione asked, shaking her package experimentally.

“Well, considering I cost him his pet, I got him an owl,” Harry explained. “Big tawny bull of a post owl. Capable of carrying a small horse, I should think.”

Neville rapped his knuckles on his present. “I’m guessing a book of some sort?”

“That would be telling,” Harry said with a wink.

“You gave _him_ a book?” Hermione asked indignantly. “What’d you give me?”

“The deed to Flourish and Blotts,” Harry replied calmly. The witch sputtered. “Not really. Like I said, that would be telling. You’ll see!”

When the train pulled into King’s Cross, the sun was setting, and the three students waited as the throngs of other passengers made their way off the train. Neville spotted his grandmother and the two left quickly, speaking quietly to one another.

“Ah, there’s my parents,” Hermione said as she spotted them. “How are you…?”

“Sirius and Remus are coming to pick me up,” Harry replied. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to be alone.” He staggered back as Hermione pounced on him, hugging him tightly. “Easy, Hermione, it’ll be all right.”

She didn’t let go. “Are you all going to be good for Christmas?”

Harry paused. “I…actually don’t know if either of them know how to cook.”

Hermione leaned back, but still didn’t let go. “You’re serious?”

“No, I am,” Sirius said from nearby. Hermione jumped back, blushing furiously. The man looked far healthier, but he was still pale and thin. His hair and beard were neatly trimmed, and there was a fire in his eyes that Harry hadn’t seen in years.

“Really? You spent a decade in prison and you’re still making that same joke?” Remus asked, before looking to Hermione. The werewolf looked healthier as well, and wore a warm smile. “Hello there. I’m Remus Lupin. That’s Sirius Black, although as you can see he’s white and rarely serious.”

“And I’m only somewhat hairy,” Harry added.

“Oh, lord, it’s contagious,” Hermione mumbled. “Hi. I’m Hermione Granger.”

Remus nodded. “Harry’s told us about you.”

“All good, I hope,” Hermione’s mother chimed in as she arrived, a shorter, rather buxom woman with Hermione’s wild hair. A tall, well-built man with Hermione’s nose and eyes was in tow. “You must be Harry’s…parents?”

Remus shook his head and opened his mouth to explain, but Harry chimed in. “Sirius is my godfather. Remus is…well, there was only one spot for godfather, so Remus is his understudy and stand-in.” Remus pouted. “He’s much more serious than Sirius, although Sirius is loopier than Lupin.”

“You’re pushing your luck, kid,” Remus said, his stern look vanishing as he failed to stifle his snicker. “Sorry. I’m Remus Lupin, ma’am.”

“Chloe Granger,” She replied. “Hermione’s mother. This is Alan.”

“He’s a born troublemaker, but Harry _has_ had nothing but good things to say about Hermione,” Remus said as Sirius and Alan shook hands. “What was it you said, brilliant, bookish, and badass?”

Harry elbowed him in the ribs. “Are you _trying_ to embarrass me?”

Remus looked surprised. “Of course I am. What are understudy godfathers for?”

Hermione had been whispering in Chloe’s ear, and the woman looked perturbed, before she tugged on Alan’s sleeve, distracting him from his conversation with Sirius. The two spoke quietly for a moment, before Chloe turned back to them. “I understand you three don’t have a lot of skill in the kitchen?”

“I’m pretty good,” Harry replied. “Sirius is an ex-con and Remus burned his house down trying to make cereal.” There was a long moment of silence as the Grangers stared in horror. “Boy, you two are easy to fool.”

“How’d you know about the cereal incident?” Remus asked quietly.

“I was wrongly accused,” Sirius insisted. “I’ve never done anything wrong in my life. Ever.”

“I know this, and I love you,” Harry replied. “Sorry, I should explain. Sirius was imprisoned without trial for several murders he didn’t commit. We got him cleared. It’s a long story.”

“I’m guessing,” Alan said, looking alarmed. “Well, provided we keep Remus away from the matches, I think we could make that work. Would you like to join us for Christmas?”

“Well, you could join us,” Sirius offered. “Harry’s flat over Diagon Alley has plenty of room and a large kitchen.” He glanced at Remus. “And it’s got fireproofing charms.”

“Sounds good to me,” Chloe said with a shrug. “Alan?”

“I’ve always wanted a seriously magical Christmas,” Alan replied.

“Oh, no, now you’ve got him doing it,” Hermione groaned. “Harry, I’ve got your mobile number, we’ll call and arrange how to get everyone over, all right?” The group bid each other temporary farewells and the Grangers departed as the Potter crew regrouped.

“We Apparated here, so I can side-along you back,” Sirius offered as they exited the station.

“Got a better idea,” Harry replied, palming the business card he had gotten months earlier and sticking his thumb out. Moments later, a cab screeched to a halt in front of them, seeming to squeeze through several lanes of traffic.

“Harry!” The cabbie said, grinning as he poked his head out. “Good to see you!”

“Billy,” Harry replied. “Sirius, and Remus. They’re with me. Can you get us to Diagon Alley?”

“You want the Leaky Cauldron, or the Alley itself?” Billy asked as Remus and Sirius shared a concerned look.

“Let’s make it fun. The Alley.”

—ML—

The cab dropped out of the air and landed in front of the building Harry’s flat was over, miraculously missing the decrepit witch that had just passed the spot they now occupied. She went on, apparently deaf as the proverbial post.

Billy rolled down his window and checked the location of the car. “Like a glove!” He exclaimed.

Sirius and Remus staggered out. “Man, what a ride.” Harry checked his watch, before staring at it a long moment and checking it was still ticking. “Five minutes. I swear, I have to see what he has under that hood.” He tossed Billy a few Galleons. “Always fun. Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“Cheers!” The cab accelerated a few feet before vanishing into thin air with another crack.

“Seems a lot like the Knight Bus,” Remus remarked. “Except slightly less nauseating.”

—ML—

“You sure about this?” Harry asked.

Remus nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Absolutely absolutely?”

“Absolutely absolutely,” Remus confirmed.

“Then you go first.”

“Not a chance, I have a child to think of,” Remus said.

“I _am_ that child!”

“What’s your point?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, flinging a pinch of Floo powder into the Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace and calling ‘Granger residence!’ before vanishing in a flash of green fire. A moment later, the flames turned green again, and he stepped back. “Works fine.”

As usual, Harry’s emergence from the Floo was less than graceful. Worse, he had been holding the groceries they had picked up, most of which landed on top of him.

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice asked. “Are you all right?”

The Boy-Who-Lived grumbled. “Yeah, just fine. I enjoy having everything I was holding land forcefully on top of me after being sent through a fiery spin-cycle and shot out of a fireplace. How are you?” He heard two giggles and a quiet chuckle from above him. “I sense we’re not alone.”

“You didn’t quite stick the landing, kid,” Alan said from above him.

Still face down on the rug with his groceries pinning him down, Harry answered, “I’d shake your hand, sir, but I seem to have misplaced them on the way over here.” Feeling his inner ear settle, he began squirming, wiggling free. He slowly got to his feet, trying to avoid shaking soot on the carpet. Harry glanced down at his hands, which were thoroughly covered in soot. “On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t shake hands…”

Mr. Granger laughed. “Don’t worry about that, son. I work with people with absolutely filthy mouths, in both senses of the phrase. A little soot won’t hurt.” Harry shrugged and held out his hand, and gave the Granger patriarch a firm handshake. “Besides, you three already wrecked the carpet, so how much more harm can you do?” Harry glanced down and spotted a grayish outline of his body on the carpet, as well as two sets of footprints leading to where Remus and Sirius were standing.

Harry’s eyes went from the carpet, to his own body, to the fireplace, to Mrs. Granger, who was wearing a rather odd expression. As they did, he was thinking of a way to make a good impression. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, another neuron sparked, and Harry put a cheesy grin on his face, doing his best to look cute. It worked, and both the Granger parents broke out laughing.

“Well, I think you should leave your things here and step out back for a moment,” Mrs. Granger said after she stopped laughing.

“Why, mum?” Hermione asked.

“We’ll need to hose you down.”

"I got it,” Sirius offered, blasting Harry with a jet of water from his wand. Harry sputtered, and Sirius shook his wand to get proper coverage. “Hold still! I need to get behind your ears!” Harry waited patiently for Sirius to stop, before shaking water. “Remus, you want to do the drying?”

Remus rolled his eyes and flicked his wand at Harry, who suddenly found himself clean and dry, the mess vanishing from the carpet. “Well, now that the comedy hour is over, let’s head to the flat.”

“You’re about to experience a particularly unpleasant method of magical travel,” Harry said as Remus pulled a tin of Floo powder from his pocket. “So please, do your best to humor the odd and unsettling traditions that your daughter is stepping into.”

A quick Floo trip later, Alan and Chloe stepped out after Hermione, all three Grangers looking sick. “Wasn’t that fun?” Harry asked sarcastically.

“Loads,” Chloe replied. “Let’s get to work.”

—ML—

Harry groaned, looking over from hanging garland. “I knew bringing all this up was a mistake.”

“So you’re telling me that you fought a twelve-foot mountain troll after just a couple months at school?” Alan asked, holding the other end of the string. “And that despite that, I should allow my daughter to return to that place?”

“Look, it was an isolated incident, she’s safe, and we’re all friends. Nobody got hurt. Except the troll.”

“Although she does owe you her life now,” Sirius remarked as he walked by.

“Wait, life-debts are a real thing in the Wizarding World?” Alan asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh, crud, I didn’t even think about that,” Harry mumbled. “I’ll have to let Hermione know I don’t buy into any of that rubbish.”

Alan seemed unconvinced. “All right.”

“Harry dear?” Chloe called from the flat’s kitchen. “I understand you like treacle tart, is that right?”

“It’s my favorite,” Harry called back.

“Good. Because I just made one.”

“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Alan said conspiratorially. “Her treacle tart is amazing. She does it from scratch. And I’m not just saying that because I’m married to her.”

Harry paused. “Can we keep her?”

Alan snorted out a laugh. “Sorry, kid, she’s got appointments next month.”

“Place is looking good,” Remus said, grunting as he hauled a Christmas tree through the flat’s front door.

“You know, you could have just shrunk that tree down,” Sirius remarked, watching Remus struggle.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Remus replied, wiping his forehead. “And you could help me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sirius echoed. Remus groaned. “Besides, it’s so much more fun to heckle from the sidelines.”

“Keep it up, Padfoot, you’ll be talking like a little girl until New Years,” Remus warned.

“Bring it on, Moony,” Sirius challenged. “I’ll even let you get the first-” He squawked as an ornament bounced off his head. “Real mature.”

Between Chloe’s skill and Harry’s providing extra hands, the group pulled together a respectable dinner, and the six were chatting amicably about the differences and similarities between the Muggle and magical worlds.

It was going well until Sirius opened his mouth. “Prisons are probably nicer in the Muggle world, though.”

“Were you really in prison?” Chloe asked.

Sirius sighed. “Yes. Ten years.”

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s all right,” Sirius replied. “I suppose I should explain, since it’s bound to come up sooner or later. Harry’s an orphan, as you know.” Chloe nodded, Alan listening quietly as well. Hermione was watching Harry carefully. “His parents were murdered by…well, I guess in your world, he’d be seen as a racial supremacist. Unfortunately, in a lot of ways our world is still backwards compared to yours, with ‘noble’ families still holding a great deal of power. There’s quite a few people with a lot of wealth who happen to agree with him. My family’s values ran his way, which is why I was such a disappointment to my dear departed mother.”

Alan coughed quietly. “Sorry. My mum used to call me the disappointment as well.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason,” Sirius said. “Anyway, this bas-” He paused, glancing at the kids. “This bloke basically had all of Britain scared. Then, one night, he comes to Harry’s parents’ house. They were in hiding, under a charm that kept their location secret. You could walk right past the building and never see it if you didn’t know it was there. Harry’s dad and I were mates in school, he was my best friend.”

“Oi,” Remus chimed in.

“Was,” Sirius stressed. “Moony here’s my best friend now. Kind of got the job by default.”

“Oi!”

“As I was saying,” Sirius continued, “everyone figured that I would be the only one who knew the secret. Harry’s parents, Remus, and I were all part of a resistance group trying to hold back the dark. There was a spy amongst us, and we didn’t quite know who to trust. I thought Remus was the spy for a while.” He paused, taking a sip of his wine. “I was wrong. James, Remus, and I were friends with another boy at school, Peter Pettigrew. He fought with us, and when James and Lily went into hiding, I talked James into picking him as their Secret-Keeper instead of me.” Sirius took a slow breath, closing his eyes tightly.

“Pettigrew sold them out,” Remus said, taking over for Sirius. “The Dark Lord came to their house, killed Harry’s parents, and tried to kill Harry, but something happened. His spell rebounded on him, and destroyed his body, but some think he’s still out there somewhere.”

“The night it all happened, I went to check on Peter. When I found him missing, I went to the Potter’s house as quickly as I could. The place was practically destroyed. I found Harry in the rubble, but Hagrid – he fought with us as well – showed up and promised to take Harry someplace safe.” Sirius rubbed at his nose. “That was my second mistake. I went after Pettigrew. I finally tracked him down in London, in public. He screamed that I had killed Lily and James, blew up the street, and faked his death. Unfortunately, a dozen other people had to die for real. I went to prison without a trial for that. And I would have stayed there for the rest of my life if Harry hadn’t found the evidence to exonerate me. Or at least until they consumed my soul. See, Azkaban, the wizard’s prison, has some human guards, sure. But their main method of preventing escapes are the _other_ guards. Dementors. Big, cloaked, wraith-like things. They feed on happy memories, drain away everything except depression and despair. Stay around them long enough and you stand a good chance of losing your very soul.”

Silence reigned at the table for a long time. “And his first remark to the Minister of Magic was to tell him he had a ‘purty mouth,’” Harry said, trying to break the tension.

It worked. Chloe sputtered out a laugh, and Remus shook his head with a grin as Sirius shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Fair enough,” Chloe chuckled. “A question, though. Why have I heard them calling you Padfoot?”

Sirius grinned. “Say, Harry, has Professor McGonagall showed you her form yet?”

“I know she’s a cat, but I haven’t seen her transform,” Harry replied.

“You have a cat teaching at Hogwarts?” Alan asked, wondering what his daughter was doing at this school.

“Perhaps I should just demonstrate,” Sirius said, standing up. “Moony, if you would be so kind?”

“I’m not doing that again. Not after we graduated, I told you.”

“Come on,” Sirius whined.

“Fine, but just this once.” Remus rolled his eyes. “What do you find on top of a house?”

Sirius popped into his dog form, his tail wagging. “ _Roof_!”

“Holy crap,” Alan blurted out as Sirius popped back into his human form. “You can turn into a dog?”

“It’s a tricky skill to learn, but yes,” Sirius said proudly. “I’m an Animagus. It’s how I survived at Azkaban. See, I knew I was innocent. That wasn’t a happy thought, so the Dementors couldn’t suck it out of me. When it got to be too much, I could transform in my cell, become a dog. Dementors are blind, they feel their way toward people by feeding off their emotions. They could tell that my feelings were less — less human, less complex when I was a dog, but they thought that I was losing my mind like everyone else in there, so it didn’t trouble them.”

“You’re a harder man than I thought,” Alan said quietly.

“Easy, mate,” Sirius replied. “I was in prison a long time, but not _that_ long.”

“Nuts. Here I was ready to apply some of the _other_ stuff I learned in the service.”

Harry blinked in surprise. "You used to be in the military?"

Mr. Granger nodded. "Yes, but not as you might think. I was a dentist for the RAF. Joined up to pay for school, I didn’t have much else to do. Things did get a little...sick, at times."

"Sounds like a story."

"Yeah. Once, this corporal with the security forces decided to take 'biting the bullet' a little too seriously. I was working on him for four hours. I've got half my hand in his mouth, his mouth is bleeding, kid is screaming, my dental assistant is saying 'the MPs are here, they think you're murdering this kid.'"

"How'd it turn out?"

"Not bad. Kid kept his tooth. MPs had a good laugh at the kid for his poor decisions. I went back to my barracks and took a shower, and when I got off duty, I went out with this cute dentist bird that had a nice private-sector offer." He looked at his wife. "Didn't realize I'd wind up marrying her."

“You made the right choice,” Chloe said delicately, sipping at her wine with a smile. “So if he’s Padfoot, and a dog, why do they call you Moony?”

Remus paled. “I…erm…” He glanced worriedly at Harry.

“It’s all right, Remus, I know,” Harry said softly. “And I don’t care.”

The man glanced over at Hermione. “All right, might as well air out all the dirty laundry at once. I’m…I’m a werewolf.”

There was a moment of silence at the table. “That is so cool,” Hermione whispered. Harry snickered, and the witch blushed and stuck her tongue out at him.

Alan shrugged. “So, should we keep the family silver away from you, or…”

Remus smiled faintly. “No, silver won’t kill a real werewolf any faster than anything else would. During the full moon, I transform into a wolf, and at a glance I don’t look much different from any wolf you’d see at a zoo. Transformed werewolves are dangerous to humans, but not to other animals or Animagi like Sirius here.”

“Which is why I became one,” Sirius said proudly. “We figured out where he was getting off to every full moon. Remus was terrified we’d reject him because of his condition, but we weren’t having that.” Remus smiled again, and Sirius thumped him on the shoulder. “So we became Animagi. Managed it in our fifth year. Course it was illegal, but we didn’t care.”

“No cure exists, but there’s a potion that lets me keep control of my mind during the transformation,” Remus continued. “If I were to bite you right now, you wouldn’t become werewolves, but you’d probably gain a fondness for rare meat and some permanent scars.”

“So werewolves aren’t particularly well-liked in the magical world,” Alan surmised.

“Most of the time, when people know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me,” Remus confirmed. “Holding down a job is difficult, as once people find out, I’m usually let go.”

Alan grunted. “That’s some nonsense right there.”

“It is what it is,” Remus sighed. “This conversation got dark, didn’t it?”

“I know a way to lighten it up,” Sirius offered, flicking his wand at Remus.

“Oh, real mature,” Remus replied in the voice of a ten-year-old girl. “Thanks, Sirius, I really needed that. I sound like a chipmunk!” He cast his own spell back at Sirius, turning the man pink.

“You know, I never expected you’d be the mature one in this household,” Hermione commented to Harry as the two continued to jinx each other.

“Boys, enough!” Harry called. The two stopped, although Sirius took the time to blindside Remus one more time, transfiguring him into a midget. “Set each other right. We’ve got guests, behave!”

Alan and Chloe were both holding back titters, and Hermione was steadfastly rolling her eyes.

—ML—

The days until Christmas passed in a blur, the Grangers and the Black-Lupin-Potter clan spending time shopping, laughing, and eating. Harry woke up on Christmas morning and showered, hearing Sirius cursing quietly in the sitting room and grinning to himself as the man hollered ‘Moony!’ The young wizard emerged to find Sirius standing in the sitting room, the man’s head stuck on his Animagus form’s body and a furious look on his face.

“Having some trouble, Sirius?” Harry asked innocently.

“No, but Remus will be once I widdle in his shoes,” Sirius growled.

“Who said it was Remus?” Harry replied.

“Well who else could – wait.” Sirius stared at Harry. “You?”

“Me.”

Sirius sniffled. “Give me my arms back so I can give you a hug. I’m so proud of you.” Harry quickly set the man right, and Remus entered the room to find the two still wrapped in a hug. Harry squeaked as Remus hugged him from the other side.

“Am I interrupting?” Hermione asked from the door.

“Harry just caught me with a prank for the first time,” Sirius explained. “It’s a big step in his life.”

“I’m just in it for the hugs,” Remus added. Hermione snorted daintily. “Anyone for breakfast?”

“Depends, are you cooking?” Hermione asked. “I mean, making cereal shouldn’t come with the risk of burning down your own house.”

After everyone was fed, the six of them sat down to open presents. Hermione and Harry ripped open the boxes from their respective parental figures to find an assortment of clothes and books, the Grangers having procured magical titles with Sirius and Remus’ assistance. Each also received a wand holster from Sirius and Remus, giving them a safer place to store their wands than their robe pockets. The two bachelors looked confused at the giant television and surround-sound system until Harry explained, and Sirius’s eyes bugged out when he found a magically expanded trunk filled with every movie he had missed in prison. The Grangers, Sirius, and Remus exchanged some relatively simple presents – bottles of wine, perfume or cologne, and a bright pink collar Chloe presented to Sirius as a gag gift – and looked at the remaining presents.

“This one’s yours,” Harry said, shifting a large box over to Hermione as Sirius fastened the collar around his neck. The witch pulled the wrapped lid off, before holding up a wizard cracker that was sitting on top of another, smaller box. Harry grinned, and tugged on the end. The magical item went off like a muffled gunshot and turned itself into a rubber chicken. Harry promptly handed it to Alan, who looked puzzled for a moment, before sitting the chicken on the table and resolving to work it out at a more godly hour. Hermione opened the next box, to find another wizard cracker sitting on top of the next smaller box. There was a total of seven boxes in all, along with seven wizard crackers, which, when pulled, resulted in two Santa hats, a bouquet of flowers, the rubber chicken, a dancing frog that sang a showtune before dissolving into dust, a pair of fresh trout, and a small toy Wizard’s Chess Set. Hermione pulled open the last box, giving out a small cry of frustration when its contents were in another layer of wrapping paper. “Honestly, Harry! Did you do this to frustrate me?”

Harry mulled it over a moment, before nodding. “Yup. I did.” He received the two trout in his lap as a reward. Hermione shredded the last layer of wrapping paper, finding a small case. “They’re fountain pens. I don’t understand why the wizarding world still uses quills and inkwells, but those will never go dry and there are samples of different inks there.”

“This is amazing,” Hermione whispered, drawing on a pad with one. “Look at this! It even changes colors!”

Harry opened his gifts, finding a pair of books from Hermione – “How to Battle Mountain Trolls, Acromantulas, and Other Things You Shouldn’t” and “Deep Dark Secrets – the Tricks and Tips to Pranks” were immediately set aside to go back with him.

“We may not always have Fluffy on hand to protect us,” Hermione explained, still doodling with her new fountain pen.

Harry dug around under the tree, finding a squashy package he knew to be from Dumbledore. “Wonder what this is,” he mused aloud. “Remus? Sirius? This from you? There’s no return label on it.” Both Marauders shook their heads, and Harry shrugged, unwrapping it. The Invisibility Cloak flowed into his hands, and Sirius gasped audibly. “I…what is this?”

“If it’s what I think it is, I know who it’s from,” Sirius breathed.

Harry snagged the note attached to the cloak, unfolding it. “Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you,” he read out loud. “This was my dad’s?”

Remus looked to be near tears. “Oh, you have no idea how many times I saw James disappear under that cloak…”

“Disappear?” Harry asked, donning the cloak and looking down. “I’m…invisible?”

“It’s an invisibility cloak!” Hermione said excitedly. “They’re supposed to be really rare – your dad owned one?”

Sirius grinned. “James and I got out of so much trouble with that cloak. He got it from his father a ways back.”

“That he did,” Fleamont called from his frame on the wall. “I got it from my father! I’m not sure how long it’s been in the Potter family. Enjoy it, my boy.”

“That’s odd,” Hermione remarked. “The spells on cloaks like that tend to fade over time. Years, not decades like this.”

“I remember James saying he had leant the cloak to Albus before they went into hiding,” Sirius said. “He must have had it all this time.” Sirius shared a glance with Remus. “Too bad we don’t have the map.”

“Eh?” Harry looked up, feigning ignorance.

“We put our heads together and created a map of Hogwarts,” Remus explained. “It showed all the secret passageways, all the classrooms, the hallways, every corner of the castle that we could find. It also showed everyone’s location.”

“It even showed them under invisibility cloaks, Polyjuice Potion, and even in Animagi forms,” Sirius added.

“In our seventh year, Filch cornered us and took it.”

“I still say Snape tipped him off,” Sirius groused. “Filch could never have caught us without being warned.”

“Well, he’s still just as much of a berk,” Harry said cheerfully.

“You met him?” Sirius asked.

“Met him? He teaches Potions.”

“That arsehole is _teaching_?” Sirius asked, flabbergasted. “He’s a Death Eater!”

“A what?” Chloe chimed in.

“Death Eater,” Remus said. “Followers of You-Know-Who.”

“Some say Snape turned traitor late in the war and spied on them for our side, but Dumbledore’s the only one who believed he changed,” Sirius added.

“And this man is allowed to teach?” Alan asked.

“Saying he teaches is generous,” Harry snorted.

“Mostly he just leaves the instructions up on the board and then scuttles around the classroom berating people,” Hermione explained. “Harry spends a lot of time looking out for some of his favorite targets.”

“If I didn’t have as good a grip on Potions as I do, I’d probably be one of them,” Harry said darkly. “Neville’s good at Potions, I’ve seen him practice outside of class. It’s just with that giant bat looming over him like that, he gets nervous.”

“That would be Neville Longbottom, right?” Remus asked. Harry nodded. “I knew his parents. Good people. They fought with us during the war, and Frank was always there for James.” He paused. “Come to think of it, Alice was Lily’s matron of honor at the wedding.”

“What happened to them?” Hermione asked softly.

Remus closed his eyes. “Casualties of the war,” he replied finally.

“So, this map,” Harry said, unwrapping the package from Hagrid and grinning at the flute, before giving it an experimental toot. “You think Filch still has it?”

“Well, I’ve never known him to destroy or throw away any of the stuff he confiscated, and as far as he could see it would just look like a grubby piece of parchment,” Sirius said.

“Wait a tic, I remember the Weasley twins mentioning something about a Marauder’s Map a while back,” Harry lied. “They said they had stolen it from a drawer labeled ‘confiscated and highly dangerous.’ Could that be it?”

The two pranksters shared a grin. “Good to know it’s in good hands, at least,” Sirius replied. “That reminds me, I ought to find out what happened to my old bike. I loaned her to Hagrid, I’m guessing he didn’t crash her.”

Harry was watching the byplay as he pulled open a parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater he remembered getting from Mrs. Weasley. He immediately pulled it on, sneaking a piece of homemade fudge out of the box and watching as Crookshanks began batting at a loose piece of tinsel.

Easily, the best Christmas the Boy-Who-Lived had ever had.

—ML—

Christmas Day in the Weasley household was, to say the least, a bit strange. It was less an opening of presents than it was a riot with confetti made from wrapping paper. Despite half the family being in Romania, the standard Weasley jumpers were handed out, and Ron unwrapped a book on the complete history of the Chudley Cannons from Hermione as he enjoyed the peace and quiet in the boy’s dormitory. There was a tapping at the window, and Ron opened it to find a large, tawny owl waiting for him, a letter in its beak. It flapped over and roosted on the headboard of his bed as Ron ripped open the letter.

_Ron,_

_Since I was technically responsible for you losing Scabbers – shut up, I was – I felt the best present I could get you was a new pet. The owl is yours, so let me know what you name him. Tell the twins not to blow the place up before I get back. Happy Christmas!_

_Harry_

The youngest Weasley boy grinned as Fred and George came in, wearing each other’s sweaters. “Oi, Ron, why aren’t you wearing your sweater?”

“Haven’t put it on yet,” Ron replied, biting the head off a Chocolate Frog. “Harry got me an owl!”

“Well, now you really have no excuse to not write Mum,” Fred said. “Harry sent us stuff too.” He held out a rigid metal card with his name emblazoned on it. “He said in the note that they’re a link to an unlimited line of credit to any joke shop in Britain.”

“That ought to get you started,” Ron replied with a grin.

“Feel kind of bad, though,” George mused. “We didn’t get him anything.”

“I wrote Mum, told her he wasn’t expecting presents, so she probably sent him a sweater,” Ron said.

“Well yes, but that’s _Mum_ ,” George scoffed. “This is us.”

“Well, we could…” Fred looked over at his twin.

“The map?” Fred nodded. “I suppose they could use it.”

“What’s all this noise?”

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.

“P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, Ron said even Harry got one.”

“I — don’t — want —” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

“And you’re not sitting with the prefects today, either,” said George. “Christmas is a time for family.”

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

—ML—

Minerva McGonagall occasionally got presents from her students, and found that usually, they got her something dignified along the lines of books, or robes. However, she opened the present from her four favorite (secretly, of course) students and immediately felt better about the world. She transformed into her Animagus form, before pouncing on the catnip-laced ball of yarn and batting it across her office. Losing sight of it, she began chasing a loose bit of wrapping paper, and resolved to thank the students for their gift. In private, of course.

—ML—

Albus Dumbledore looked at the large pile of presents with dismay. He could tell immediately that most of them were books. “Let’s see…books from the Bones, the Longbottoms…” he set the stack aside when he spotted several smaller packages.

He opened the first one, and found a pair of thick, woolen socks – bright pink, with polka dots that flashed between purple and orange. Setting those aside, he opened the next package, which were equally garish, but in neon Gryffindor colors. The next packages had the same in Ravenclaw colors, Hufflepuff colors, and Slytherin colors. Resolving to wear them as soon as possible, Dumbledore set them aside, before tugging off his own socks and donning the pink pair. He opened the rest of his gifts, finding the usual amount of books and candy, excluding Bertie Bott’s Every Flavored Beans. He cast a Softening Charm on the rock cakes from Hagrid and munched on one with his tea, idly scratching his foot.

The tiny itch that had developed on the arch of his left foot began to spread and intensify as he scratched it, eventually becoming almost painful. Dumbledore pulled off the sock, expecting to find itching powder inside, and was startled when his foot burst into flame. He tossed his tea onto the fire with a yelp, before realizing that the fire was not in fact burning him. However, the tea was. Dumbledore pulled off the other sock, and found that his right foot also apparently caught fire when it was exposed to the air. He let the ‘fire’ burn for a few moments, before ending the enchantment with a flick of his wand.

Dumbledore resolved to discover who had given him the socks, and reward them for superior spellwork. After all, even Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin, First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, could appreciate a good prank. So, Dumbledore decided to put all of his not unimpressive brainpower to work on the problem…after a lemon drop.

—ML—

Severus Snape arose late on Christmas Day. He never received a gift from anyone but Dumbledore, and the old man gave him a bloody pair of socks every year, so what was the point in getting up early for that? However, this year, the greasy Potions master was surprised to find a gift at the foot of his bed, duly delivered by the house-elves. He opened it, and was even more surprised when a large, misty orb rose from the package and hovered at eye level.

“What on earth…” He pulled out his wand and prodded it. The bubble burst, sending a wave of magical soap out in every direction. The soap scoured everything it touched clean in an instant, before vanishing.

—ML—

Harry groaned as he slouched in his seat, the remains of their Christmas feast still scattered across the table. A massive roast duck, roasted and boiled potatoes, buttered peas, boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce, and glasses of wine for the adults and sparkling cranberry juice for Harry and Hermione left the whole group nearly catatonic.

“I suppose we better clear the table,” Chloe said thickly after several minutes had gone by.

Nobody moved.

“I got it,” Remus replied finally, thumping his wand on the table. The dishes floated into the kitchen, leftovers sliding into containers and the dishes landing in the dishwasher. The machine groaned, churned, and belched, before ejecting clean dishes into the cupboards.

Chloe leaned forward, watching the proceedings openmouthed. “I...Alan, can we keep him?”

The man chuckled, downing the last of his wine. “Depends. Is he housebroken?” Sirius yawned widely, idly scratching behind his ear. “Well, I think it’s about time for bed.”

Two hours later, the six of them were still talking by the fire, cocoa and eggnog flowing freely as the group took turns sharing stories. Sirius and Remus had claimed the two comfy armchairs, leaving Alan and Chloe to snuggle on a loveseat and Harry and Hermione on the couch. The evening grew quieter and quieter, and it was only when Alan noticed Chloe dozing on his shoulder than he signaled Sirius and Remus, the two wizards nodding silently as the dentist gathered his wife into his arms and carried her off to bed.

“I guess that’s it,” Remus said softly, dousing the fire. “I have to admit, this is one of the nicest Christmases I’ve ever had.”

“Me too,” Harry replied.

Remus looked pained. “Harry, there’s so many years-”

Harry shook his head. “No. None of that. Remus, you had just lost all your friends, people who were your _family_. Don’t blame yourself. It’s Christmas. Enjoy the future, leave the past where it is.” The werewolf nodded, and Harry hugged him tightly. “See you tomorrow.”

“So I guess it’s just us,” Hermione said shyly as Remus left.

Harry froze, suddenly uncertain. “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

She glanced upwards, her eyes widening. “Erm…” Harry followed her gaze, spotting a clutch of mistletoe over their heads.

“Mistletoe. I have a feeling your parents set us up. Or maybe it was Sirius, he’s sick like that.”

Hermione grinned. “Well, it’d be a shame to disappoint them, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose it would.” Hermione stepped closer, and he leaned forward, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

She stepped away, looking a touch off-balance. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

“Look, Harry…” Hermione’s eyes were wide. “I…sort of owe you my life.”

“You’re my friend,” Harry said immediately. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“It’s not that simple,” Hermione snapped. “There’s a magical precedent to this. I really do owe you my life. And I…I think I know how I can pay you back.”

“Short of saving my life, which I would hope we could avoid being necessary, how do you plan to do that?” Harry asked. In response, she kissed him again, and Harry squeaked in surprise, before reflexively pushing her away. “I…look, Hermione, I…”

The witch was gone before he could get another word out, the door to the bedroom locking behind her. A few moments later, he heard a muffled sob.

Harry stood there for a long moment. “Aw, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days were agonizing. Hermione emerged from her room red-eyed the next day, and it took Alan mere seconds to connect his daughter’s apparent distress with the guilty look on Harry’s face. To his credit, the man waited until they were alone before rounding on Harry.

“What happened.”

“Nothing,” Harry insisted. “She kissed me under the mistletoe. Then she pointed out she owed me her life, and that there was some sort of magical rule in place. I didn’t know there was a _rule_ , I mean really, that’s…” he shook his head. “She kissed me again, and I…I panicked. I pushed her away.”

Alan was staring at him. “You pushed her away.”

Harry sat down hard in a chair. “Look, I like Hermione. A lot. She’s one of my best friends. Do I like her _that_ way? I…I don’t know. Maybe? We’re still really young, I’m barely noticing girls. But…if she and I do wind up together, I don’t want it to be because she owes me.”

The man leaned back. “I see.”

“I want to explain that to her, but she’s been avoiding me,” Harry went on. “She thinks I’ve rejected her, and…I guess I have, but I don’t want to hurt her!”

“I should hope not. But if you two do wind up together…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You'll kill me if I ever hurt her.”

Alan chuckled. “No, no. No. _She'll_ kill you. I’ll just hide the body.” He patted Harry on the back. “Good luck.”

“Could you talk to her?” Harry asked desperately. “Tell her why I did what I did?”

Alan shook his head. “This is your mess, kid. You need to clean it up. I’ll let her know that she should talk about this with you, but that’s as far as I go.”

—ML—

Harry grumbled as he shut the latest compartment door behind him. He had been working his way down the length of the Hogwarts Express, searching for Hermione. He had encountered most of the other Hogwarts students, none of whom had seen her.

“Can’t find a place to sit, Scarhead?” Harry heard as he moved towards the next compartment.

“My goodness, Malfoy, you really are interested in my arse, aren’t you,” Harry replied, not turning around, but palming his wand. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, I’m not gay. Or bisexual, even. I realize daddy taught you how to bite down on a strap and take it like a champ, but _I don’t swing that way_.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Malfoy spat.

Harry shrugged. “Well, I suppose I could have just ignored you, but since we both know you’re going to try to curse me, and I _know_ you’d have no compunctions about hexing me from behind, I turned around so you can at least claim you were beaten in a fair fight.” Harry gave him a nasty smile. “Wouldn’t want to do too much damage to your self-esteem.”

Malfoy whipped out his wand and fired off an orange spell at Harry, the spell ricocheting off the silent Shield Charm Harry had cast and catching Goyle in the face. The boy screamed, falling to his knees as the spell took effect. Harry calmly turned around again and strode on down the length of the train, glancing into compartments, looking for Hermione.

Harry finally found her at the very end of the train, sitting alone and looking miserable. She stood up as he entered and made to leave, but Harry blocked her path. “Look, we need to talk.”

“I don’t see that there’s anything to talk about,” she said softly.

“Then you’re not paying attention!” Harry grabbed her by the hand as she tried to push past him. “Now _look_.” He hauled her around, the girl’s breath whooshing out as she collided with his chest, their faces inches apart. “I happen to like you a lot, Hermione, but I don’t buy into this life-debt crap. And frankly, if we were to…do something like that,” he paused, feeling his cheeks turning pink, “I wouldn’t want it to be because you think you owe me your life. I mean, I’m eleven years old! The hormones have barely started flowing.”

Her eyes were looking suspiciously watery again. “So when you pushed me away…”

“It wasn’t because I didn’t like you, or anything like that,” Harry finished. “It was because no matter what kind of a pervert I grow up to be, you feeling obligated to jump me because of a life-debt or any of that nonsense is _not_ all right.”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right,” Harry said, wrapping her into a tight hug. “I mean, in a couple years, maybe we can see what happens, but…I’m not going to force you into something like that. Ever. If it does happen, we can go out, have a wonderful candlelit dinner, a couple magnums of wine, see a few nude paintings, get in the mood, know what I mean?” The girl sniggered in spite of herself. “You’re brilliant, Hermione, you really are, but if something happens between us, I want you to want it for you, not because I saved you. All right?” She nodded into his chest. “Good.” He planted a kiss into her bushy mop. “Because I’m going to level with you, I liked kissing you, but…” She poked him hard in the ribs, and he chuckled.

“Am I interrupting?” Neville asked as the compartment door opened.

“No, just sorting out a misunderstanding,” Harry replied.

“Aww.” Hermione squeaked as Neville hugged the two of them from the other side. “Ooh, you two smell nice.”

“It was that treacle tart Hermione’s mum made,” Harry explained. “We snuck a bit on board.”

—ML—

As soon as they arrived, Harry was summoned to the Headmaster’s office. Snape was standing beside the desk, with Dumbledore seated, his face serene.

“You needed to see me, Professor?” Harry said as he entered the room.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy is claiming you attacked him and Mr. Goyle.”

“Save yourself some trouble, boy, and confess.” Snape said. “I’ll go easier on you in the detentions you’ll be getting, if we don’t expel you outright.”

“Well, sir, they happen to be lying. One simple fact should tell you that,” Harry said calmly.

“What is that, boy?” Snape snapped.

Harry looked mildly offended. “Well, that should be obvious. They’re both still breathing. If I had attacked them, Lucius Malfoy would be sending out funeral invitations to the other Death Eaters right now. What actually happened – and you can check my wand and my memories for verification – is Malfoy and his goons approached me. The boy must have learning deficiencies or something, really. Since he’s tried to curse me before, as Professor Snape here can attest, having witnessed at least one instance of it, I put up a nonverbal Shield Charm. I’ve had a lot of practice with that one. I insulted him on the basis that he’s been awfully belligerent towards me, almost as if he’s got some sort of fascination. He asked me how I dared to speak to him like that, and I told him that I could have ignored him, but that that would have made him hex me from behind. I went on to say that I turned around and responded so that he wouldn’t get too much of a blow to his self-esteem after he was beaten face-to-face instead of after trying to curse me from behind.”

Harry drew his wand and held it out, handle-first to Dumbledore. “He drew and cast a spell at me, which bounced off my shield, and caught Goyle in the face. I left before Malfoy could take another shot.” Harry shrugged and gestured at the wand. “Check the last few spells. You’ll find that there’s no way I hit Goyle with whatever hex hit him.” Dumbledore incanted the spell, and a pair of levitation charms and a single Shield Charm emerged from the wand.

Harry smiled nastily at Snape. “I can’t understand why Malfoy would claim I attacked him. I mean, his claim that I hexed Goyle _might_ have had some proof, even if it was an outright lie, but I guess he might have seen his own butt-ugly reflection between attempting to curse me and going to whine to Professor Snape here.”

“Watch your mouth, boy!” Snape snapped.

“I will when Malfoy learns that he needs to shut his,” Harry shot back. “Next time he tries to hex me, I’ll use something with a little more kick than a Shield Charm.”

“Are you threatening Mr. Malfoy, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, the twinkle back in his eyes.

Harry shook his head. “No. Merely putting out a warning that I won’t allow him a second shot at cursing me. Who knows? He might try a really Dark spell next time. Like something unblockable.” Harry turned on his heel and left the office, leaving Dumbledore and Snape behind.

—ML—

“Problems?” Ron asked as Harry joined them at dinner. “Hermione said Filch got you as soon as the train arrived.”

“Malfoy and his goons tried to jump me on the train,” Harry explained. “Turns out whatever spell Malfoy wanted to curse me with couldn’t break a Shield charm. Goyle took it in the face, and Malfoy went to Snape and claimed _I_ attacked _them_.”

“Figures,” Ron scoffed. “And I reckon Malfoy’ll get away with it, too.”

“Probably, but he’s an idiot anyway,” Harry said with a shrug. “Can we change the subject? Thinking of the little bastard is ruining my appetite.”

Ron shrugged. “Thanks for the owl.”

“Thanks for the sweater,” Harry said, tugging open his robes to reveal the emerald green garment underneath. Ron grinned. “What’d you name him?”

“I was thinking about calling him Bruno. I tried pitching names at him but he hasn’t seemed to like any of them much.”

“We keep telling him to call him Mongo,” Fred said from across the table. “Harry, we want to thank you for the gift.”

Harry grinned at them. “Just don’t use them on me or mine. Unless it’s really funny.”

“No promises,” George replied with a wink. “See us later, though. We got something for you.”

Harry nodded. “Meantime, Hermione, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Hermione glanced over. “I’m calling in that life-debt you owe me.” Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. “Could you pass the salt?”

Silence reigned at the table for a moment. “I’m sorry, what?” Neville asked.

“Hermione’s under the impression that because of that business with the troll, she owes me her life,” Harry replied mildly as Hermione found herself compelled to pass the salt shaker over. “I figured it would be better for our friendship if she didn’t have that hanging over her head.”

Neville nodded in understanding. “Pretty noble, Harry, a lot of people would abuse that.” He glanced over at Hermione, who had blushed so red she was practically glowing. “Hermione, considering I was involved, I would say you owe me as well. I’m going to call that in. Would you pass the potatoes?” Hermione’s eyes were so wide they looked as if they might pop out of her head as she shifted the bowl of potatoes over half a foot so they sat in front of Neville. “Thank you very much.”

All eyes turned to Ron. “What, you think she owes me, too?” He shrugged. “Hermione, we’re starting Switching Spells in Charms tomorrow. I’m calling in our life-debt. Could you help me learn the spell?” The girl was practically in tears as she nodded. “Wicked. You do that, we’re square.”

—ML—

“All right, boys, what’d you want to give me?” Harry asked. “I’m hoping you two don’t have a firstborn to hand over.”

Fred chuckled. “Not that we know of. But after your Christmas gift, we figured we should pass something on to you.” Fred pulled the Marauder’s Map from inside his cloak with a flourish.

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

“It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred, “but we decided last night, your need’s greater than ours.”

“Anyway, we know it by heart,” said George. “We bequeath it to you. We don’t really need it anymore.”

Harry set a hand on the map. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” Fred and George stared at him openmouthed as the map came to life. “Relax, boys, I know the Marauders.”

“You _know_ them?” George asked. “We owe them so much.”

“Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,” said Fred solemnly.

Harry snorted. “Prongs was James Potter. Padfoot is Sirius Black, my godfather. Moony is Remus Lupin, my honorary _other_ godfather. And you’re acquainted with Wormtail – he lived with you for a while.”

“Pettigrew?” Fred said incredulously. “The Dark wizard who was masquerading as Scabbers?”

“That’s him,” Harry replied, pressing his wand to the map. “Evening, Marauders. I’m a new user.”

The writing on the map shuffled itself. _Mr. Padfoot would like to welcome you to the Marauders Map_. _Do you require an introduction?_

Harry smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, Padfoot, I know the real you. You’re my godfather.”

 _Mr._ _Prongs would like to know who ever trusted Mr. Padfoot that much._

“You did, dad,” Harry said.

_Mr. Moony would like to take a moment to point and laugh at Mr. Prongs._

“You got suckered into taking care of me too,” Harry replied.

_Mr. Moony would like to retract his statement._

“Later, gentlemen,” Harry said, tapping the map. “Mischief managed.”

—ML—

Days passed quite calmly. Harry made sure to avoid the room he knew to hold the Mirror of Erised, having no desire to see what it might show him. Without the Mirror or the burning need to find out who Nicolas Flamel was to distract him, Harry was right behind Hermione in marks and in-class performance. He had gotten the odd letter from the goblins regarding the start-up Harry had planned to fund, the setup continuing on schedule as the goblins reached out to Squibs or wizards living in the Muggle world. Harry had already prodded Remus about joining up, leaving the werewolf grinning widely at the idea of a well-paying job that he couldn’t be fired from over his condition.

Quidditch practice was almost insultingly easy – with Harry’s knowledge of the past and seven years of flying experience under his belt, he could reliably outfly most of the rest of the team. Picking up Oliver’s plays took a lot less effort when he had seen performed repeatedly before.

Harry watched the Weasley twins pretending to fall off their brooms as he idly practiced the sloth grip roll, a practice Bludger zipping by as he rolled out of the way. Finally, Oliver’s temper passed the breaking point. “Will you stop messing around!” he yelled. “That’s exactly the sort of thing that’ll lose us the match! Snape’s refereeing this time, and he’ll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!”

George Weasley really did fall off his broom at these words. “ _Snape’s_ refereeing?” he spluttered through a mouthful of mud. “When’s he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He’s not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin.”

Harry stepped off his broom lightly as the rest of the team landed next to Oliver to complain. “It’s not _my_ fault,” Oliver insisted. “We’ve just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn’t got an excuse to pick on us.”

“Like having an excuse has ever stopped Snape from being an arsehole,” Fred scoffed.

“Snape’s a berk, sure,” Harry said. “But if we know how he’s going to act, we can account for it. We’ll just have to play harder. Maybe I can catch the Snitch sooner, end the game before Snape has the chance to jerk us around too much.”

—ML—

“You’re sure playing is a good idea?” Ron asked as he nudged his castle forward, the piece hesitant to comply with his command. Hermione’s knight reared its horse expectantly, and Ron grumbled as the castle tried to debate with him.

“It’ll be fine,” Harry replied. “He can’t curse me in front of the entire school. Much as he might like to. Besides, if I don’t play, Gryffindor can’t play. There’s no reserve Seeker, and if I don’t show up, the Slytherins will all think I’m just too scared to face Snape.”

The portrait hole opened, and Neville toppled through, his face covered in blood. Harry and Hermione leapt to their feet, pulling him to his feet. “Take it easy, Nev,” Harry said. “Your nose is broken.”

“You can tell that just by looking at him?” Hermione asked, handing Neville a kerchief to staunch the bleeding.

“Had my nose broken before,” Harry replied. “This is going to sting a bit, Neville, but it’ll fix your conk.”

“I drusd you,” Neville slurred, squinting at him through a black eye. “Go for id.”

Harry pointed his wand at Neville’s nose. “ _Episkey_.” The boy grunted in pain as his nose shifted back into place, before prodding at it as his black eye began to clear up. “What happened?”

“Malfoy,” Neville spat. “Tried to curse me outside the library. Said he’d been looking for someone to practice on. He missed and I jinxed him back, so Crabbe and Goyle got involved.”

“And how bad do they look?” Ron asked.

Neville coughed into the kerchief. “Well, I couldn’t improve much on nature, but I’m pretty sure Goyle’s got a nice shiner.”

Ron chuckled. “Well, at least you stood up to him.”

“Yeah, look where that got me,” Neville replied, holding up the pieces of his broken wand. “Malfoy stomped on it while Goyle was redecorating my face.”

“Oh, _that_ won’t fly,” Harry growled. “Come on. We’re going to McGonagall.” Ron and Hermione fell in behind them as Neville scrubbed at his face. Harry passed him a Chocolate Frog. “You’re worth twelve of him. Maybe fifteen on a good day.” Neville smiled faintly. “I’m sorry about your wand, Neville.” They reached McGonagall’s office, finding the professor curled up in a cat bed in her Animagus form. The catnip-laced ball of yarn Harry and Hermione had given her was sitting next to the bed, and the two shared a knowing grin. Harry reached out and scratched McGonagall behind the ears, the professor chirping quietly as her head popped up.

“Sorry to bother you, Professor, but there’s a slight…disciplinary matter,” Hermione said softly. The cat flicked an ear, before standing, stretching, and hopping onto the floor. A moment later, McGonagall emerged from behind the desk in her human form.

“Is it Potter, Weasley, or Longbottom?” the professor asked.

“Hey,” all three boys said in unison.

“Oh, it’s all three of you?”

“Hey!” Harry said. “It’s Neville!”

McGonagall scoffed. “As if Longbottom here would ever be a problem.”

“You’re mocking me, aren’t you,” Harry realized.

“No, mocking you would require making fun,” McGonagall replied calmly. “That was messing with you. What happened, Neville?”

“Malfoy, ma’am,” Neville replied, quickly running through what had happened. “I managed to get back to the Gryffindor common room, and Harry fixed my nose before bringing me down here.”

McGonagall’s lips had gone so thin they had virtually disappeared. “I see.”

“My personal differences with Malfoy aside, this was a pretty severe assault,” Harry said. “He and his mooks not only attempted to attack me on the train, but they beat up Neville and broke his wand.”

McGonagall’s eyes widened. “They attacked you as well?”

“Tried,” Harry said, in confusion. “Malfoy tried to curse me and I used a shield charm. Goyle caught the ricochet in the face and Malfoy went screaming to Snape, saying I had attacked them. Professor Dumbledore didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t,” McGonagall replied, her voice tight. “I’ll have to speak with him about that. But one thing at a time. Neville, is your nose better?”

“Like new,” the boy replied. “I look awful, but he fixed me up.”

“Good. I’ll take care of this. I’ll also see about getting you permission to go to Diagon Alley so you can purchase a new wand.”

—ML—

The first time, the match against Hufflepuff had barely lasted five minutes, but the Snitch had managed to elude him for almost half an hour so far. Harry spotted Dumbledore in the crowd as he circled the Quidditch pitch, searching for the Snitch. He remembered Ron telling him something about a scuffle with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle the first time around, but all three Slytherins had been docked fifty points apiece and handed a month of detentions after their actions on the train and at the school library and hadn’t come to the game.

Harry spotted the Snitch zipping past Snape’s greasy hair as Katie Bell snagged the Quaffle in midair, intercepting a Hufflepuff pass and laughing wildly as she hooked around one of the Hufflepuff Beaters. The Seeker went into a dive, Snape’s eyes widening as he spotted Harry speeding towards him. The man ducked out of the way as Harry blew past, a Bludger narrowly missing both men as the Hufflepuffs tried to throw Harry off his game.

The Snitch was streaking across the pitch, nearly at ground level as Harry pulled out of his dive, the tiny ball suddenly changing directions and moving just out of his reach as the solid wall that marked the side of the pitch grew closer and closer. The grass was practically tugging at his feet as Harry threw his broom into a skid, his fingers closing around the Snitch as he transitioned from horizontal to vertical flight inches from the wall. A roar went up from the crowd as Harry landed, holding the Snitch aloft.

As Gryffindors came spilling onto the field, he saw Snape land nearby, white-faced and tight-lipped — then Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore’s smiling face. “Well done, young man, well done!”

Snape spat bitterly on the ground. Harry tried not to wink at the man as the rest of the Gryffindor team landed around him, the Weasley twins cheering loudest of all.

—ML—

Harry was reading a letter from Sirius at Easter in the library as Hermione continued to fret over the end-of-year exams. “Hermione,” he finally said, looking over. “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” The witch paused, staring at him. “Now that your brain’s in neutral, listen closely. We’re first-years. The tests aren’t going to hold back the average witch or wizard, let alone someone like you.” Hermione blushed faintly, and Ron rolled his eyes.

“Really, Hermione, you could probably pass your _third-year_ exams now,” the redhead scoffed. Nearby, Neville flicked his new wand, sending a quill flying across the table. A grin spread across the blond’s face as he flicked his wand again, the quill hovering a foot off the surface.

“The new wand serving you well?” Harry asked.

“Loads better,” Neville replied. “It’s like it’s a part of me.”

Harry grinned. “I told you. May I?” Neville handed his new wand over, and Harry recognized it as the wand he had gotten in his sixth year. “Is this cherry wood?”

Neville nodded as Harry handed it back. “Thirteen inches, cherry, with unicorn hair.” His smile grew wider. “It likes me.”

Ron scowled as he followed Neville’s motions, trying to replicate the boy’s results. The quill burst into flames, and Harry hurriedly doused it. “Well, I hope I get lucky at exam time, then.”

Harry snorted. “Come off it. McGonagall and Flitwick know you’re smart. Loads better than Crabbe or Goyle, and they’re sure to pass.”

“Not the point,” Ron grumbled. “I want to be able to _show_ them.”

Harry hid his smile. “So it’s not just me who wants approval then, huh?” Hermione said victoriously.

Ron was grumbling when he spotted Hagrid. “Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?”

Hagrid shuffled into view, hiding something behind his back. He looked very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. “Jus’ lookin’,” he said, in a shifty voice that got their interest at once. “An’ what’re you lot up ter?” He looked suddenly suspicious. “Yer not still lookin’ fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?”

“Oh, we found out who he is ages ago,” said Ron impressively. “And we know what that dog’s guarding, it’s a Sorcerer’s St—”

“Shhhh!” Hagrid looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening. “Don’ go shoutin’ about it, what’s the matter with yeh?”

“Besides the fact that Dumbledore brought something like that to a school full of children?” Harry asked. “And that he knows someone is trying to steal it and it’s still on the grounds?”

“Yeh should trust him,” Hagrid said. “Dumbledore’s the best, he knows what he’s doin’.” Hagrid shuffled off.

“What was he hiding behind his back?” said Hermione thoughtfully.

“Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?”

“I’m going to see what section he was in,” said Ron, who’d had enough of working. He came back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slammed them down on the table.

“Dragons!” he whispered. “Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: _Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide._ ”

Harry groaned. “Hagrid’s always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him.”

“You don’t suppose he’s gotten a dragon?” Neville asked.

“No, we’d have noticed,” Ron replied. “The whole place would be on fire.”

“Could be an egg,” Harry offered, scrawling out a reply on the back of the letter and stuffing it in an envelope, before stowing it in his robes. “What do you say we catch up with him? It’s a beautiful day. Could use a walk.”

As they crossed the lawn to Hagrid’s cottage, Ron was chattering away about the laws against dragon breeding. “It was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, everyone knows that,” He said.

“You know all this, but you can’t remember who Ulric the Oddball was?” Hermione asked.

Ron paused. “Well, I had to learn about dragons before I could wrestle them, you know.”

Harry laughed. “What kind of wild dragons are there in Britain?”

“Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles who’ve spotted them, to make them forget.”

“So what on earth’s Hagrid up to?” said Hermione.

“I’ll bet anyone a sickle that he’s got an egg,” Harry replied.

“No bet,” Neville scoffed. “I’ve learned not to gamble against you.”

Hagrid let them in, shutting the door quickly behind them. Harry tugged at his robes as the stifling heat hit them. “Would yeh like some tea? A stoat sandwich?”

“We just ate,” Harry said quickly, doing an obvious double-take as he spotted the dragon egg. “Hagrid, please don’t tell me that’s a dragon egg.”

“That’s a dragon egg,” Hagrid replied.

“I asked you not to tell me,” Harry groaned. “How’d you get it?”

“It must’ve cost you a fortune,” Ron breathed, crouching over the fire to get a closer look at the egg.

“Won it,” said Hagrid. “Las’ night. I was down in the village havin’ a few drinks an’ got into a game o’ cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest.”

“But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?” said Hermione.

“Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’,” said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. “Got this outta the library — _Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit_ — it’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, ‘cause their mothers breathe on I em, see, an’ when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ see here — how ter recognize diff’rent eggs — what I got there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback. They’re rare, them.”

He looked very pleased with himself, but Hermione didn’t. “Hagrid, you live in a _wooden house_ ,” she said. But Hagrid wasn’t listening. He was humming merrily as he stoked the fire.

Harry sighed as they left the hut. “We’d better see Dumbledore.”

“Would be terrible to make him give it up, but he certainly can’t keep it,” Hermione agreed.

It only took a few minutes to get to the gargoyle. “Excuse me,” Harry said politely to the gargoyle. “Could you ask Professor Dumbledore if he has a minute? It’s Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom.” The gargoyle stared him down, and a few moments later stepped aside, revealing the stairs. “Thank you.”

“Wonder what it’s like to have a peaceful life,” Ron sighed as they climbed the stairs.

“Wouldn’t know,” Harry replied, knocking at the door.

“Come in!”

“Professor,” Harry said as they entered the room. “Thanks for seeing us like this.”

“No problem at all,” the headmaster replied serenely. “What brings you here?”

“Hagrid’s got a dragon egg,” Harry blurted out, giving the man a pointed look.

Dumbledore stared at him a moment. “Oh, dear.”

“As cool as it would be to have a dragon protecting Hogwarts, I don’t think it’s entirely practical,” Harry said.

“He lives in a _wooden house_ ,” Hermione added. “Sure, the castle’s stone, but it’s a _dragon_.”

“Ron, you think Charlie could take the egg?” Harry suggested.

Ron paused. “I…sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I would not advise you to discuss smuggling dragon eggs in front of me. I would also not advise you to use my fireplace to contact Mister Weasley’s brother here via Floo immediately, as well as not leave the dragon egg at the edge of the Hogwarts grounds so that nobody would see the egg being picked up. I most _certainly_ wouldn’t advise you to leave it there before dark, but have the pickup made at night so that nobody would see the courier approach.” The man’s eyes twinkled. “It wouldn’t be appropriate, after all. However, I _will_ speak to Hagrid about this.”

—ML—

Harry grinned as he saw Charlie’s friends zip back into the sky with a Disillusionment spell washing them out, the dragon egg with them. Under his invisibility cloak, he checked the Marauder’s map, spotting Quirrell stalking into the Forbidden Forest, presumably hunting another unicorn for Voldemort. Taking care to give him a wide berth, Harry scurried back towards the castle, checking that Filch was out of the way as he cut up a staircase.

Harry pulled off the cloak as he reached the portrait, the Fat Lady scowling at him. “And just what were you doing out of bed at this hour?”

“Handing an illegal dragon egg off to some people who were going to smuggle it out of the country,” Harry said bluntly.

She rolled her eyes. “If you were going to lie, you could have come up with something more believable.” He gave her the password and clambered through the hole.

Hermione, Neville, and Ron were waiting in front of the fire, Neville toying with his new wand. Hermione looked up from her book, a tiny ball of light hovering over her shoulder to provide light to read by.

“It’s done,” Harry said. The others let out relieved sighs. “No problem.”

—ML—

The past few months had given Harry a deeper understanding of Hermione’s viewpoint than he had thought possible before his jump back in time. With his second first year at Hogwarts deeply lacking in attempts on his life – one paltry staged accident from Quirrell and a fight with a troll, Harry thought – he had had a great deal of time to spend on properly learning in class and found himself deeply enjoying it. Having seen it all before made the work insultingly easy, but Harry deliberately held back. Hermione was by all rights the smartest in their year and deserved to be known as such.

That said, there was truly something amazing about how Hogwarts could take performing actual magic spells and make it a chore. At the moment, Harry was staring down Dumbledore, having effortlessly bullshitted his way through a Potions essay Snape was sure to return marked down for arbitrary reasons anyway.

Dumbledore just sighed. "Harry," he began slowly. "Are you trying to drive me to an early grave?"

“Too late for that,” Harry replied. “You could just let me kill him.”

“No.”

“You never let me kill anybody!”

“Because you shouldn’t!”

“I’m an orphan! Haven’t I lost enough?”

“Can we please stay on topic?” Dumbledore asked.

“Fine. So, Professor,” Harry said tightly. “Why exactly are Snape and Quirrell still employed here?”

“Finding a replacement has been difficult,” Dumbledore explained. “Horace Slughorn has been reluctant to come out of retirement, and with the reputation the Defense Against the Dark Arts position has picked up, few are willing to consider it.”

Harry stared him down. “You did view those memories, did you not.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Professor Snape-”

“Only switched sides because he wanted to bang my mum,” Harry interrupted. “He’s a horrid teacher and a rotten person, and he spends his class periods abusing his students! What does it take for you to understand that he shouldn’t be teaching?”

“There are other factors at play-“

“Albus, I know what all the factors are,” Harry cut him off again. “Remember that I’m not eleven. Don’t treat me like a child. You did before, and a lot of good people died.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I will do my best.”

Harry waited for him to continue, but eventually reached the decision that it was time to play rough. “Professor Snape has no business teaching here. If you refuse to replace him, I may have to take the decision out of your hands.”

The headmasters face hardened slightly. “Are you threatening him?”

“No, I’m threatening you,” Harry said bluntly. “As you would know if you viewed those memories, Snape knowingly tried to have two innocent men thrown to the dementors, and then prevented me from exonerating Sirius when they escaped. When he couldn’t have them killed, he told everyone in Slytherin about Remus’s condition to cost him his job. I figure turnabout is fair play. How many parents would complain if they knew a Death Eater who practices Legilimency on the students in between abusing them and threatening their pets was on staff?”

Dumbledore grimaced at Harry’s mention of Snape’s habit of mind-reading the students. “Harry, I have trouble believing that you would be so harsh.”

“Albus, remember that from the moment he saw me, Snape hated me, because I was a living reminder that what he turned traitor for didn’t exist. Remember that he was the one who passed the prophecy to Voldemort, forcing my parents into hiding. Remember that open war may be something that’s not currently going on for you, but it’s defined my life. I go to sleep and I see battlefields. I see my friends and loved ones dead or dying in front of me. You think I won’t be harsh? Think again. And then think of how refusing to see the darkness in people cost you personally.” Dumbledore flinched, and Harry felt a momentary pang at the low blow. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. We’re people, not chess pieces. Treat us as such.”

The old man made one last attempt. “You can’t forgive him? He’s been through a great deal of hardship and tragedy in his life.”

“And I’m an orphan because of it,” Harry said coldly. “Snape made his choice – repeatedly – and what he could have been like had he not joined up with the racist terrorist group doesn’t interest me. Sure, he probably could have been a nice person – but he chose not to be. Like it or not, this is who he is and this is who he’ll be remembered for. Besides, forgiveness requires repentance. Snape has never and will never regret what his actions have done to others, only himself. Remember that he didn’t think working for Voldemort was wrong – until something directly affected him, he had no problem with it.” Harry flipped his bangs up, revealing his scar. “If Neville had this instead of me, Snape would still be a Death Eater. If he’s still employed in July, I’m going to the press. If he’s still at this school next year, I won’t be. End of discussion.” Standing up, Harry left the room.

—ML—

In the weeks that followed, Hermione had begun to obsess about the exams, despite Harry’s attempts to reassure her that nobody had ever actually failed first year. Thinking back, Harry wondered if it was even possible to fail until fifth year, considering he hadn’t taken his exams in fourth year.

Hermione was busily harping on Ron to study as they left their common room, and the boy looked miserable until Harry intervened. “Hey, Hermione?” The witch looked over. “You ever read _Matilda_?”

The girl blushed. “I…yes. I did.” She lowered her voice. “It was that book that helped me do the first magic I ever did.”

“I can believe it,” Harry said with a smile. “A smart, bookish girl who could move things with her mind. I can see how you can relate to that.”

“And concentrating very hard on the books on the bookshelf and getting them to move,” Hermione added.

Ron smirked. “You discover you have magic and the first thing you do with it is try to get a book? Only you, Hermione.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as Harry led the way down the stairs, hopping over a trick step. Ron tripped as his foot caught the trick step and he stumbled into Harry, the two tumbling down the stone steps in a tangle of limbs and profanity and landing in a groaning pile at the bottom.

The first thing Harry noticed was Hermione screaming. The second thing was how much his body hurt. “Anyone injured?” He asked, rolling over and gasping in pain. “Besides me?” He clutched at his wrist, feeling it throbbing. “Ron?”

“I hate these staircases,” the boy groaned. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Come on, let’s get you two to the hospital wing,” Neville said, pulling Harry to his feet.

“I’m all right,” Ron insisted. “Nothing hurts but my dignity.” He rolled over, and gasped. “Oh, Merlin, that’s not good.”

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, cradling his wrist to his chest.

Ron held up the back half of his wand. “My wand. I broke my ruddy wand.”

“We’ll get you a new one,” Harry said, grimacing as his wrist shifted. “Come on, Madam Pomfrey can have Dumbledore or McGonagall meet us at the hospital wing.”

“Your friends seem to go through wands rather quickly,” McGonagall remarked as Madam Pomfrey healed Harry’s wrist with a practiced wave of her wand. “Miss Granger, I would suggest watching yours closely. At this rate we’ll be sending you for a new one soon.”

“We’d better not be,” the witch said firmly, mock-glaring at Harry as the mediwitch took care of the bruises the two had picked up.

Ron was looking despondently at the pieces of his wand. “My mum’s going to kill me.”

“It was an accident,” Harry pointed out. “Besides, in a week or two the Twins will do something and she’ll be angry at them instead of you. Win-win.”

“How is that a win-win?” Hermione asked.

“We might lose the House Cup,” Harry pointed out.

Everyone stared at him. “And that would be a good thing…why?”

Harry stared back at them. “Because it’s just a tool to get us to suck up and follow the rules, and all we as students get out of it is the Great Hall decorated in our colors for one meal and a train ride’s worth of bragging rights? Besides, it promotes competition between the Houses, and aren’t we supposed to be trying to build school unity? It makes things all about 'House Pride' and proving that your House is better than the others.”

Ron and Neville glanced at each other in surprise as Hermione mulled that one over. “I…you…that doesn’t make sense!” Hermione finally said. “I…but…rules…points…”

“Could we get her something to calm her down?” Harry asked Pomfrey as the witch continued to gibber to herself. “Granted, most of the stuff about this castle doesn’t make sense – why hide the Common Rooms? Is a person sneaking into some other House’s Common Room that big a problem? And couldn’t a portrait identify someone by sight? I honestly wonder what the Founders were thinking sometimes. I love Gryffindor, honestly, but it was probably the most idiotic idea ever for a Hogwarts house. Sure, let’s take all the adolescents with poor impulse control and _put them in the same place_!”

“Oh come on, we’re not that bad,” Ron protested.

Harry stared at him. “A Gryffindor’s last words are typically ‘hold my beer and watch this.’ Or something to that effect.”

—ML—

Ron was almost cackling as he played with his new wand. “Oh, this is going to be _good_. This wand feels so much better than my old one!”

“Well yeah, of course it does,” Harry said. “The wand chooses the wizard. You were using Charlie’s old wand – and why did he stop using that one anyway? Presumably it was working just fine for him. You had a wand that wasn’t really suited to you.”

Ron flicked his wand at a quill on the table. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” The quill floated immediately, staying steady. “Oh, _yes_.”

“Hey, Ron? Can I ask you something?” Ron looked over. “Your relative who’s not magical. Why doesn’t your family talk about him?”

The redhead looked uncomfortable. “He’s...er, well, he’s in prison.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Muggle prison,” Ron added.

Harry’s eyes bugged out. “Really? Why?”

“Counterfeiting and tax evasion. Apparently he tried to take a bunch of galleons, melt them down into solid gold, and sell them in the muggle world, then exchange the profit for galleons at Gringotts.” He grimaced. “He’s why my family doesn’t have much money. He used most of what we had.”

Harry stared at him, large pieces of Ron’s past suddenly making sense. “Well. That’s terrible.”

“It’s why we don’t talk about him much,” Ron said weakly. “It’s kind of a sore subject.”

“Didn’t mean to be nosy,” Harry apologized. “Can I catch up with you later? I’ve got to see McGonagall about something.”

“Sure,” Ron said, still toying with his wand.

Ten minutes later, Harry was sitting in Dumbledore’s office again. “It’s April. You’ve known that you have one of the darkest wizards to ever exist on the school grounds since September. So what, if anything, is being done about Quirrell?”

“We have the situation well in hand,” Dumbledore assured him.

“Pardon me if I don’t find that helpful,” Harry said scornfully. “Albus, I told you what’s going on, when it’s going to happen, and how to beat him. Why are you waiting?”

“Pardon me if I am hesitant to confront a Dark wizard in a school full of children,” Albus replied.

Harry flinched. “I…you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“The Stone has been moved out of the castle,” Dumbledore explained. “The Flamels have it and are hiding under a Fidelius charm. I am the Secret-Keeper, and I would die before giving it up. We have recovered the Horcrux from the Room of Requirement, as well as the Gaunt ring. You’ll have to speak with your godfather about recovering the locket. No progress can be made on the diary or cup Horcruxes at the moment, however.”

“And this?” Harry asked, tapping his forehead.

Dumbledore sighed. “I have made some…quiet inquiries, through middlemen, of course, to both Dementors and specialists in soul magic. As it stands, tossing you to a Dementor and hoping it sucked the fragment of soul out of you rather than the soul you’re rather attached to is a last-resort scenario. We have started a ritual that will hopefully remove the Horcrux so it can be destroyed, but it is still in its infancy.”

“Not really a rush on that,” Harry said. “I’d rather we take the time to get that right.”

“As would I,” Dumbledore agreed. A brief smile flittered across his face. “Are you studying for your exams?”

Harry chuckled. “I’m pretty sure I could pass my NEWTs right now. Any ideas on how to get the basilisk out of the Chamber of Secrets without killing or endangering a whole lot of people?”

“Working on that as well, but no solid plans yet beyond calling the Ministry,” Dumbledore said. “And that would require exposing you as a Parselmouth.”

Harry groaned. “I could deal with that if we had to, but I’d rather not. It would mean clearing Hagrid, however.”

“Something I have been eager to do for quite some time,” Dumbledore admitted. “Perhaps the best thing to do would be to let Lucius Malfoy pass the diary on, so we can apprehend him in the act. The Horcrux could be destroyed then.”

“Professor…” Harry paused. “Albus.” The man’s eyes twinkled at him. “I appreciate your patience. I’m not used to authority figures being very helpful.”

“Rest assured, Harry, when the time comes I plan to confront Quirrell myself. Until then, please, stay out of trouble.”

“No promises,” Harry said with a cheeky grin as he left the office.

Weeks passed, and Harry kept checking and re-checking his mental list. The same potion that had boosted his Occlumency shields had cleared up his memory, making it far easier to recall what had happened in the years before. Hermione angsted about the upcoming exams, Ron and Neville rolled their eyes but dutifully studied as best they could, and Harry continued to feign difficulty with magic he had mastered years before. In between pretending to struggle with his homework, Harry met as surreptitiously as he could with McGonagall and Flitwick, moving ahead and learning as much as he could about advanced charms and transfiguration spellwork. Harry did notice both professors giving Quirrell suspicious looks, but Dumbledore was as serene as ever whenever he was in the same room as the possessed professor. Quidditch continued to be simple enough as none of the other Quidditch teams boasted a Seeker with Harry’s experience or broom quality, and as the year wore on, Gryffindor remained undefeated in Quidditch and in the lead for the House Cup as a result.

When the exams finally came in June, the classrooms were sweltering hot, and Harry did his best to not complete the written exams too quickly. The practical exams were almost insultingly easy, although Flitwick had Harry produce his Patronus rather than bother with making a pineapple tap-dance across his desk and McGonagall allowed him a rare smile when Harry turned her desk into a pig with a nonverbal spell. Harry kept shooting Neville wary looks as each student brewed a Forgetfulness potion, but the young man studiously ignored Snape breathing down his neck as he calmly added ingredients to his cauldron.

Even if Harry hadn’t had the advantage of experience, the lack of shooting pains in his scar made it far easier to focus and perform under pressure than it had been the first time around. But the young man was still stressed, especially when a note was delivered to him by Dumbledore after his History of Magic exam, with only two words on it.

_It’s time._

“Hey, Hermione, can you tell the others I’ll catch up with them later?” Harry asked.

“Sure thing,” the witch said. “Something wrong?”

“Just got to talk to McGonagall about the summer homework,” Harry replied. “I wanted to double-check something.” The girl nodded, hurrying to catch up with her friends. Harry glanced around and reached into his bookbag, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak and quickly disappearing under it. Silencing his footsteps with a whispered spell, Harry set off for Dumbledore’s office.

When Harry arrived at the gargoyle, he pulled up short when he saw Quirrell approaching, the man still wearing his nervous façade. “Jelly slugs,” the professor said to the gargoyle. Harry followed him up the stairs as quietly as he could, the man striding into Dumbledore’s office through the open door. “S-s-something w-w-wrong, Albus?”

“Nothing too serious, just following up with my professors,” the professor replied calmly, packing some tobacco into a pipe. “Any problems with the exams?” Quirrell shook his head. “Excellent. You feeling well enough, Quirinius?”

“F-f-feeling a bit off,” Quirrell admitted. “S-s-s-summer cold, I think.”

“That’s a shame,” Dumbledore said, lighting the pipe with a Muggle matchstick. Flicking it at the wastebasket, Harry watched as the match missed the can, hitting the carpet and immediately igniting. An intricate design flared along the carpet, centering on Quirrell, and Dumbledore glared at him with an intensity that Harry only remembered seeing on the old man’s face once before, when Dumbledore had taken down Barty Crouch Junior after the Death Eater’s attempt on Harry’s life. “Because possession does take a lot out of you,” the headmaster finished.

Quirrell smirked. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out,” he remarked, his voice cold and sharp. “Is this paltry seal supposed to hold me?”

“For starters,” Dumbledore replied. “But I would rather speak to Tom, if he feels like making an appearance.” He flicked his wand, and Quirrell’s turban vanished. Harry nearly yelped as he spotted Voldemort’s face again. “Ah, Tom, how good to see you again,” Dumbledore remarked mildly. “You’ve lost some weight.”

Harry had to put his fist against his mouth at that to stifle his laughter. “Dumbledore,” Voldemort snarled. “You truly thought I was gone? That I could be defeated so easily?”

“Hardly,” Dumbledore said. “You were always overconfident, but I knew you would have taken steps. You certainly did when you killed Myrtle, fifty years ago.”

Voldemort smirked. “Ah yes, when I framed that oaf Hagrid? It was too easy. And you were fools for believing a third-year could have done what I did.”

Harry smiled faintly as Voldemort provided the evidence they needed to exonerate Hagrid. “I knew that it was your hand at work, when Quirinus returned from Albania in that state,” Dumbledore said. “I also knew that you would never expect me to believe Quirrell was a threat, and to not prepare for your plans.”

“Which is why we did,” McGonagall added, stepping out from under a Disillusionment Charm alongside Flitwick and Snape. All three had their wands raised, feeding power into the binding spell. “We may not be able to kill you, but you won’t be enjoying your un-death for a while.”

Voldemort sneered. “These childish bonds will not hold me.”

“They seem to be doing a suitable job so far,” Harry interjected, pulling the cloak off.

Voldemort’s eyes widened. “ _You_.”

Harry cracked his neck. “Hello. My name is Harry Potter. You killed my parents. Prepare to die.”

“See what I have become?” Voldemort rasped. “Mere shadow and vapor… I have form only when I can share another’s body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds. I will find the Stone, and I _will_ finish what I have started. Your parents died bravely, you know. Your father fought without a wand, and he died first. He put up a courageous fight, but your mother…ah, she needn’t have died. She was trying to protect you, you see. Release me, and she won’t have died in vain.”

Harry smiled at him. “As Professor Dumbledore once said: get fucked.”

Dumbledore stared at him. “I have never once said that, Harry.”

“I’m paraphrasing,” Harry replied. “You know, Tom, you seem to be poor in critical thinking. I have to wonder why you bothered with a Killing Curse,” Harry taunted. “What, was hitting me with a hammer too complicated? Throwing me out a window, even? I know magical babies can bounce, but come on, man, I was a year old! You could have just left me to freeze to death!”

“Enough!” Voldemort screeched. “ _Release!_ ” The professors flinched as he said it, and Harry realized Voldemort had been speaking in Parseltongue as the binding spell unraveled. All four professors cast at once, Quirrell almost casually blocking their curses with a wave of his hand as Voldemort screamed for Quirrell to seize Harry. The man lunged for Harry, and the Boy-Who-Lived balled up a fist, Quirrell’s nose giving a deeply satisfying crunch as it broke, even as the man’s face began to blister. A bolt of pain rocketed through Harry’s scar, and Harry grabbed Quirrell by the hands, feeling the man’s flesh searing under his grip. His blood was pounding in his ears as Voldemort shrieked for Quirrell to kill him, spells washing over the possessed man’s back as the professors tried to stop him attacking Harry.

Harry’s knee came up, slamming into Quirrell’s groin, and the Boy-Who-Lived threw a sharp elbow, crushing the possessed man’s throat. He fell back, gurgling and clutching at his throat, spells still splashing over his body to no effect as the Hogwarts staff kept up their assault.

Then Quirrell stilled, and a specter arose from the body, collapsing in on itself and vanishing as the body began to crumble. Harry panted, ignoring the splitting headache he had developed. “What, was grabbing him too easy? It’s not all about waving wands, people!”

“What are you doing here, boy?” Snape barked.

“What happened to the binding spell?” Harry asked, ignoring Snape. “I thought that was as strong as it could be made.”

“I did not anticipate him having such command of Parseltongue magic in that state,” Dumbledore admitted.

“How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter,” Snape spat, his eyes glinting. “He too was exceedingly arrogant.”

Harry stared at him a moment, before rolling his eyes and turning back to Dumbledore. “Anyway…”

“You haven’t answered my question, Potter!” Snape growled. “What are you doing here? You could have been killed!”

“So could any of you,” Harry replied. “I just saved all of you. None of you could even land a spell on him, let alone bind him.” He left the ‘eat me’ unsaid, but his tone got the message across.

“Well, he got away, but he’s on the run now,” Dumbledore said as Snape fumed. “He cannot elude us forever.”

“I should hope not.”

“What do we do with Quirinus here?” McGonagall said, toeing the carcass.

“Unless one of you has a dustbuster handy, I suggest we leave him alone for now,” Harry said, glancing at Snape, who was glaring daggers at him. “Headmaster, have you reached a decision?”

Dumbledore winced. “I don’t think now is the best time.”

Harry stared at him a moment longer, before shrugging. “Your choice.” Turning on his heel, he left the Headmaster’s office, mentally composing the letter he was going to send.

—ML—

The last Quidditch match of the season went to Gryffindor, a rough game that barely netted them the win when Harry managed to grab the Snitch. The Gryffindor Chasers were exhausted from end-of-term exams and were more than grateful that Harry had allowed them the narrow win, and Harry found the Weasley twins hoisting him onto their shoulders as they chanted ‘we won the Cup!’ He didn’t bother to hold back his grin as he saw Percy jumping up and down like a maniac, all dignity forgotten, next to Professor McGonagall, who was sobbing harder than Wood, wiping her eyes with an enormous Gryffindor flag. Wood passed Harry the Cup, and Harry triumphantly lifted it into the air, the crowd roaring.

Winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time in five years was plenty of reason for the Gryffindors to throw a party in their common room that evening, but Harry was just glad to have been conscious for this game. Snape was fuming, clearly still furious over Harry’s utter disregard for his authority and over Slytherin trailing behind both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw in the House Cup.

The next few days were some of the most relaxing Harry had ever had. After writing a few letters, Harry spent the rest of the Hogwarts term relaxing with his friends and goofing off more than he had in his entire life. The unfortunate demise of Professor Quirrell had made the rounds of the school, and more than a few people were giving Harry odd looks as rumors abounded that he had murdered their Defense professor. With only one source to those rumors, Harry made a mental note to hex Snape at the first opportunity.

The afternoon before the end-of-year feast, Harry was sitting outside Hagrid’s hut with the man, the two idly talking about the exams and the future. Fang sat splayed on the grass nearby. Both wizards straightened up when they spotted Dumbledore approaching, and Fang’s tail began thumping against the ground.

“Ah, Professor,” Hagrid greeted him. “What brings yeh down here? Harry in trouble again?”

“Hey, that hurts,” Harry protested, poking Hagrid in the arm. “I’ve led a peerless life of exemplary behavior!” His face twitched. “Darn, I thought I could say that with a straight face.”

Dumbledore didn’t comment, but his eyes were twinkling madly. “Hagrid, I have some good news for you. It seems we had an unwelcome visitor, here at Hogwarts.” Hagrid looked baffled. “Well, new evidence has come to light, clearing you of any wrongdoing.”

“Professor…” Hagrid began, glancing at Harry.

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “I know you’re innocent. Now everyone else can know, too.”

“So, it will take some doing, but your expulsion will be overturned,” Dumbledore continued. “And as such, I am afraid that you will not be able to continue on as gamekeeper.” The half-giant paled. “You just won’t have the time. I expect you will be far too busy in intensive study with Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and myself.”

“Sir…” the man looked near tears. “I…”

“You also have your Care of Magical Creatures OWL coming up in a month,” Dumbledore went on. “As well as your NEWT the next day. Your Mastery is all but assured, considering the paper you wrote on the similarities in the handling of hippogriffs and dragons.”

“I didn’t write any paper – wait,” Hagrid protested. “Are you talking about that letter I wrote yeh years back when I went to Hungary? I was drunk when I wrote that!”

“And it was still one of the most concise and well-reasoned papers I have ever read,” Dumbledore replied. “I took the liberty of submitting it for review, and pending your other examinations, you have already been approved for a Mastery in the Care of Magical Creatures.”

Harry slugged him in the arm. “Good on you, Hagrid! You’ll be able to do whatever you want!”

“I…buh…I…” Hagrid was completely flabbergasted, his eyes darting back and forth between Harry’s grin and Dumbledore’s proud smile. “But sir, I can’t leave Hogwarts! This is my home!”

“I was hoping you would say that,” Dumbledore said. “You see, I find that we may need a new Care of Magical Creatures professor here soon. After all, Professor Kettleburn has been making noises about retirement ever since that unfortunate incident with the manticore. I’ve been trying to find a replacement, but perhaps I should have been looking closer to home.”

“Me? A professor?” Hagrid stared at him. “With all due respect, Headmaster, are yeh barkin’ mad?”

“Jury’s out,” Dumbledore shrugged. “But what does that have to do with anything?” He turned to leave. “Better find your way to Diagon Alley for a new wand soon, Hagrid. Your OWL is on the twelve of July.”

The half-giant gibbered for a few more moments as Dumbledore walked away until Harry poked him. “You’ll do fine, Hagrid. You know more about magical creatures than anyone within a thousand miles of here.”

“We’ll see,” Hagrid finally acquiesced. “Oh, before I forget, there was summat I wanted ter give yeh.” He went into his cottage, rummaging around for a few moments. He returned with a heavy, leather-covered book, and Harry opened it up, feeling his eyes burning as he found the album Hagrid had assembled for him. “Sent owls off ter all yer parents’ old school friends, askin’ fer photos… knew yeh didn’ have any… d’yeh like it?”

Harry tucked it under one arm, pulling the half-giant into a tight hug. “It’s brilliant, Hagrid,” Harry said softly. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

—ML—

Harry sat down to breakfast on the last day of his first year, happily scooping some eggs and sausages onto his plate. He paused when he heard Percy gasp, and glanced over, a headline catching his eye.

_Ministry Worker Found Dead_

The Boy-Who-Lived frowned. “You mind if I borrow that when you’re done, Percy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	6. Chapter 6

Percy handed the paper over, and Harry quickly scanned the article, his blood running cold.

_Ministry Official Found Dead_   
_By Clarence Moorhead_

_The Ministry of Magic was rocked today when it was announced that Bartemius Crouch Senior, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was found dead at his home last week. His house-elf was also found dead at the scene, and the infamous Dark Mark, not seen since the fall of You-Know-Who eleven years ago, was spotted over the home when Aurors arrived. Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was unable for comment. Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge remarked, “Barty’s death is a great loss to the Ministry. His service to Wizarding Britain will never be forgotten, and his fight to root out corruption in our government is a cause I am dedicated to continuing.”_

Harry passed the paper back, doing his best to hide the shock on his face. With Crouch and Winky dead, that meant that Barty Crouch Junior was in the wind. He glanced up at Dumbledore, the man looking concerned when he met Harry’s shocked gaze. Harry tilted his head back slightly, and Dumbledore nodded, before he felt a gentle tap at his Occlumency shields. Harry carefully lowered them, hearing Dumbledore’s voice in his head a moment later.

_“Something wrong, Harry?”_

_“Barty Crouch is dead. His son is a Death Eater – one of Voldemort’s inner circle, and one of the most loyal. Crouch and his wife smuggled his son out of Azkaban years ago – he was holding him under the Imperius. I don’t know what happened to cause this, but…”_ Harry’s eyes widened. “ _Oh, Lord, it was Fudge shaking down the Ministry, wasn’t it?_ ”

Dumbledore maintained the eye contact, but paused. “ _I am afraid you may be right, Harry. We must be mindful of this new development._ ”

Harry swallowed hard, ending the conversation. He marshalled his face into a smile as he looked over at Ron and Hermione. “So, any summer plans?”

—ML—

That night, Harry truly had to struggle to hide his glee at how annoyed Snape looked at the proceedings. The Great Hall was decked out in Gryffindor colors, and a huge banner showing the Gryffindor lion covered the wall behind the High Table.

Dumbledore stood up, and the chatter died away. “Another year gone!” he said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts! Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and seventy points; in third, Slytherin, with three hundred and ninety-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Gryffindor, four hundred and ninety-nine.”

A storm of cheering broke out from everywhere but the Slytherin table, as the other Houses celebrated the end of the six-year winning streak Slytherin had held. Harry could see Draco Malfoy snarling and calmly waited. Dumbledore waited until the cheers died down. “Well done, Gryffindor!” Snape was shaking Professor McGonagall’s hand, with a horrible, forced smile. He caught Harry’s eye and Harry knew at once that Snape’s feelings toward him hadn’t changed one jot.

In response, Harry winked at the man, and a moment later Snape’s glare turned to a look of shock as a box of fireworks concealed under the Potions professor’s chair went off, sending red and gold sparks blazing in every direction. Students whooped as a giant, fiery lion formed out of the sparks, the creature roaring proudly before dissolving.

At _that_ point, Harry didn’t bother holding back his grin anymore.

When the exam results came out, Harry couldn’t hold back his grin, despite the new worries of Crouch Junior being loose. Hermione had scored top marks across the board, of course, and Ron had passed with better marks than he had had previously thanks to his new wand. Harry had come in just behind Hermione, although his Potions score was marked as barely passing. Neville, however, had blown clear past the halfway mark, landing in the upper third of their year in scores, even in Potions. The blond boy couldn’t hold back his smile as the other Gryffindors jostled him, congratulating him on his scores.

And as quickly as the year had started, it was over, the students boarding the Hogwarts Express again, Harry and Ron tossing Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans across the compartment into each other’s mouths on the train ride back as Neville and Hermione discussed Herbology.

“You’ll visit during the summer, won’t you?” Ron asked as they tugged off their robes and pulled on their jackets.

“If you’ll have me,” Harry replied. “Same goes for all of you. Maybe we can all go on holiday someplace. Hermione too, if her parents can get away.”

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll ask,” Hermione said shyly.

“And you too, Neville,” Harry added. “I know Remus would be interested in speaking with you, he’s into Herbology.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Neville replied, still grinning over his exam scores.

It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn’t attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.

Sirius and Remus were waiting outside the gateway, both wearing identical grins. “Heard you got up to some mischief,” Sirius said proudly. “You’ll have to tell us all about it later.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said. “Oh, but first – Neville, this is Remus Lupin. Remus, this is Neville Longbottom.”

Remus’s smile faded. “Your parents are Alice and Frank, aren’t they.” Neville nodded silently. “They were good friends to me. I’m sorry.”

“Neville’s a cracking wizard,” Harry said. “Brilliant at Herbology. Only one with a higher mark than him was Hermione.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Is he now? I remember Alice being pretty good in a greenhouse too. I’m sure she’d be proud of you.” Neville blushed brightly. “Frank saved my rear more than once. You ever need anything, you just ask.”

“Ah, there’s my mum,” Ron was saying.

“There he is, Mom, there he is, look!” It was Ginny, but she wasn’t pointing at Ron. “Harry Potter!” she squealed. “Look, Mom! I can see —”

“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them. “Busy year?” she said.

“Very,” said Harry. “Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Oh, it was nothing, dear.”

Harry shook his head. “No, it was something, all right. I…” his voice cracked. “I really appreciate it, ma’am.”

Molly looked down at him. “You will keep in touch with Ron, now that he’s got an owl of his own, right?”

“Of course,” Harry said. “All of you are welcome at our home anytime, as well.” Sirius came up behind him, nodding affirmatively. Molly paled slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry. Molly, this is my godfather, Sirius. Sirius,”

“I know who he is,” Molly replied tightly.

“I know who she is,” Sirius said softly at the same time. “Molly, I…”

“Don’t apologize,” she snapped. “Just…don’t.”

The Weasley kids and Harry looked equally baffled as the two adults stared at each other. Finally, Sirius nodded mutely, and turned away. “What was that about?” Harry asked quietly as they regrouped with Remus, who was chatting with Neville.

“Her brothers died in the war,” Sirius explained. “The night they were killed, I was with them. I had just left when the Death Eaters showed up. It took five of them to kill Fabian and Gideon, but…” He scrubbed at his face. “If I had been there, they might have made it.”

“Sirius, you can’t blame yourself for _everything_ ,” Harry said exasperatedly. Sirius grumbled, but fell silent.

—ML—

Harry knocked on the door to the Burrow, glancing over at Sirius and Remus as he shifted the bottles of wine in his hands. “You two promise to behave, right?”

“No,” Remus said.

“Not even a little,” Sirius added.

“Good.” The door opened, and Ron grinned as he saw Harry.

“Welcome to the Burrow,” he said. “Come on in!”

It was much as Harry remembered it – rather cluttered, incredibly welcoming, and decorated in layers of textures. He spotted Ginny coming round the corner and waved, the redhead squeaking and turning around to run up the stairs as Fred and George came clomping down.

“Ah, these would be the two who gave you the map?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded. “Fred and George Weasley. A pleasure. You can call me Sirius, or Padfoot.”

The twins paled. “I sometimes go by Moony,” Remus added.

The two boys fell to their knees. “ _We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!_ ”

“From what we’ve heard, you are _absolutely_ worthy,” Sirius replied.

Before he could continue, Molly bustled in, her face tightening slightly as she saw Sirius. “Ah, Harry. Welcome!”

“We brought wine,” Harry said, holding out the bottles. “I hope they’re good, none of us know wine from a hole in the wall.”

“I’m sure they’ll do just fine,” Molly replied warmly, taking the bottles. Harry took the opportunity to give her a hug. “Well, Hermione and Neville ought to be arriving soon.”

“Mum?” Ginny poked her head down the stairs, swallowing hard when she saw Harry. “Could Luna come too?”

“There’s always room for one more,” Molly said. “Fred? Would you walk Ginny over to Luna’s house?”

“Aww, mum, I can make it on my own,” Ginny protested.

“No, I’d like him to take you,” Molly said firmly. “It’s getting dark, after all.”

“Come on, Gin, we’ll take my broomstick,” Fred joked. “You can fly it.”

“ _No she can’t!_ ” Molly called up the stairs after them.

“Party pooper!” Fred shouted back.

George was clearly biting back laughter, and Molly shook her head. “Honestly…”

Harry was sitting down and joking with George and Ron when Arthur entered the Burrow, setting a briefcase down and groaning quietly as he sat down in the nearest unoccupied chair. “Hello, boys.”

“Hi, Dad,” Ron said. “Rough day at work?”

“Just more of the usual,” the Weasley patriarch said. “The odd shrinking key, a few jinxed pairs of shoes.” He glanced around the room, his eyes roaming past Harry, stopping, and focusing on him. “And who are you?” He asked pleasantly.

George snorted out a laugh. “Lost track of your kids again, Dad? Did you forget about Craig and Gerald too?”

“I lost track somewhere around Percy,” Arthur snarked. “When you and your brother showed up I just stopped trying. You should have heard me.”

George and Ron spoke in unison, both grinning widely. “Twins, Molly? Twins? I can hardly tell one buttock from the other on a good day, let alone two identical children! I’ll just start referring to them as you boy and that one there!” Arthur was laughing by the time they finished, and Harry was grinning widely at the byplay.

“But I know this one isn’t mine,” Arthur said. “He’s got brown hair! Molly? Did we adopt one?”

Harry burst out laughing. “Mr. Weasley, I’m Harry Potter. I’m a friend of Ron’s from school.”

A moment later, Molly shouted back. “No, we didn’t adopt one, you silly man!”

“I love you!”

An irritated sigh came from the kitchen. “And I love you too.” She was clearly annoyed, but Harry could hear the smile in her voice.

“So, you’re Harry Potter,” Arthur said. “Ron’s told me all about you in his letters. You were raised by Muggles, I understand?” Harry nodded. “ _Fascinating_. Would you mind answering a few questions about the Muggle world?”

“Before I do, have you considered the job offer?” Harry asked.

Arthur sighed. “I…have, at that. I will admit, it’s a tempting offer.”

“Frankly, Mister Weasley, I’m surprised you didn’t immediately jump on it,” Harry remarked. “From what Ron’s told me you’re fascinated by Muggle technology, and this would give you the chance to work with it on a daily basis and get paid ludicrously well for it.”

The man looked unsure. “I realize that. You understand, however, that I am hesitating for other reasons.”

“Speaking as a potential employer, what reasons?” Harry asked.

“Well, first of all, I have security at my position in the Ministry,” Arthur explained. “If this company were to fail, I would be left without an income.”

“The goblins have arranged for a generous severance package if the company should go under,” Harry pointed out. “And by ‘generous’ I mean ‘your grandchildren would be set for life’.” He scratched his chin. “Truth be told, I wonder if we would profit more from the company failing.”

Arthur smiled faintly. “Secondly, the aim of your little project as I understand it is to merge magic with technology in a working manner. I’m not sure we could make that work. Not feasibly, at any rate. I wouldn’t want to accept money for something I didn’t know that I could do.”

“This wouldn’t be something that would happen overnight,” Harry protested. “Besides, even if we don’t wind up with something profitable in mass production, there’s definitely going to be a niche market.”

Arthur seemed almost convinced. “Well, I…have been…tinkering, with a few ideas.”

Harry feigned ignorance. “Really? What did you have in mind?”

“He’s got a car he’s working on,” George said.

Harry stared at Arthur incredulously. “You’ve got a _car_ you’ve enchanted? Does it work?”

“Oh, very well, from what I’ve tested so far,” Arthur admitted.

“You’re telling me you’ve already got an automobile to work with magic?” Harry asked. He grinned widely. “Mister Weasley, that’s beyond anything I expected to see in the next several years. I was thinking we would start with something like Muggle radio or mobile telephones! You’ve got a _car_ that is enchanted – that alone would be enough to get this project moving!”

Arthur beamed, but before he could reply, raised voices were heard from the kitchen. “I don’t want to hear it!”

“But Molly,” Sirius was saying.

“No! You don’t get to say that to me!”

Harry skidded to a halt in the kitchen, Arthur a step behind him. “What’s going on?” Arthur asked.

“Face it,” Sirius said fiercely. “If I had been there, your brothers might still be alive!”

“ _Or you might all have been dead!_ ” Molly shouted. “Blast it, Sirius, my brothers were fond of you! You don’t get to take the blame for their deaths! Don’t you degrade their sacrifice by claiming it was your fault!”

“Merlin’s earwax, Sirius, I can’t take you anywhere,” Harry sighed.

“And that’s another thing!” Molly went on. “Harry here needed you alive!” Her face softened. “Sirius, my brothers are dead. They gave their lives for what they believed in. Please, let them rest.” Sirius finally nodded, and Molly hugged him tightly. “I know. I miss them too.”

Arthur’s face brightened. “Oh, Sirius, before I forget, I’ve got your bike.”

Sirius’s head popped up. “Daisy? She’s still around?”

“You named your motorcycle Daisy?” Harry asked.

“Look, just because my family named all their kids after stars doesn’t mean I had to do the same thing,” Sirius said defensively. “Is she still running?”

“Like a dream,” Arthur said proudly. “She’s out in the garage. I’ve, er…made some improvements.”

Sirius’s face went cold. “Arthur.”

“Nothing that can’t be undone,” Arthur went on hastily. “But take a look at her before you get upset.”

There was a knock at the door. Ron made it there first. “Neville!” He hauled the blond inside. “Good to see you!” He looked up at the witch standing behind him. “Ma’am.”

“Hey, Nev,” Harry said. “And Mrs. Longbottom, I presume?”

“Indeed,” she said archly. “I understand you and young Neville here are good friends.”

“I only have good friends,” Harry replied. “Neville threw down with a troll with me. Hard to _not_ be friends after that.”

A smile flitted across her face. “Yes, I heard about that. I also understand his marks have improved, thanks to your assistance.” Neville winced.

“Hardly,” Harry said dryly. “All that he needed was to obtain a wand suited for him and be around people who believed in him. The rest was all him.” Augusta Longbottom’s face tightened slightly at Harry’s jab. “That said, he _did_ do better than me in Potions and Herbology, and considering Snape is somehow still teaching Potions and hates Neville almost as much as he does me, that’s impressive.”

Ron had been watching the verbal sparring. “Anyway,” he finally interjected. “Neville, you want to play some Exploding Snap?”

“Sure,” the boy replied, and the two trotted off.

Harry was still staring down Augusta, but Remus entered the room a moment later. “Honestly, those two are just bonkers over cars…” He stopped short as he spotted the newcomer. “Augusta.”

“Remus,” Augusta said coolly.

A long, long silence ensued. “Whoo boy, it sure is quiet in here,” Harry said eventually.

“Have you reconsidered Albus’s offer?” Augusta asked.

“I don’t think I’m ready yet,” Remus said.

The woman rolled her eyes. “Nobody’s ever ready for anything. Just do it, man.”

Harry was glancing back and forth. “Somebody want to fill me in?”

“Probably shouldn’t tell you,” Remus admitted. “It’s somewhat confidential.”

“Yeah, make the orphan feel worse, why don’t you.” Harry said, mock offense in his voice.

Remus snickered. “All right, fine. Dumbledore wants me to teach Defense at Hogwarts.”

“Do it,” Harry said immediately. “Definitely do it!”

Twenty minutes later, Harry was still pestering Remus when Ginny, Fred, and Luna arrived. “Everyone, this is Luna Lovegood,” Ginny said. “She’ll be starting Hogwarts with me this September. Luna, you know my family, but that’s Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Augusta Longbottom and her grandson Neville, and that’s Harry Potter.”

“Hello,” Luna said, looking just as daffy as Harry remembered. “Ginny’s spoken very highly of you all.” Ginny turned pink, and Harry carefully suppressed a smile.

It was certainly an interesting evening. Between Arthur and Harry discussing how Muggle technology worked, Luna’s oddball theories that she was all too happy to share, and everyone else simply doing their best to keep up, there was a minimum of awkwardness but a great deal of somewhat dotty wizards about.

Conversation abounded between passing around bowls of roasted potatoes, pieces of roast chicken, and platters of greens. Laughter echoed off the windows, and eventually Arthur stood up, his face flushed from laughter and wine. “Everyone, a toast!” Everyone raised their glasses. “To Harry Potter, the boy who brought us together. Harry, you will always be welcome in our home.” There were some scattered cheers from the twins as everyone drank. “And another thing. I’ve been wrestling with this decision, and Harry, I don’t see any other option but to accept your generous offer.” More cheers went up. “Looking forward to working with you, _boss_.”

“I’ll send an owl to the goblins about it,” Harry replied. “They’ll send you some paperwork to fill out so we can get moving. And your signing bonus, of course.”

“Signing bonus?” Arthur asked.

Harry paused. “Did I not mention the signing bonus? It’s…rather large.” He shrugged. “Whoops.”

—ML—

“Hey, Sirius, has the _Prophet_ arrived yet?” Harry asked, trying to hide his glee. “I think there’s something you’re going to want to see.”

“Remus was reading it,” Sirius replied before he heard a sputtering from the kitchen. “Moony? You all right?”

“Harry, _what did you do_?” Remus shouted. Sirius grinned at Harry, who was trying to look innocent.

The two joined Remus in the kitchen, the man furiously mopping tea off a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. The werewolf held the paper out to Sirius, who skimmed the article and laughed uproariously. Harry read it over Sirius’s shoulder, not bothering to hide his grin.

_Scandal Rocks Hogwarts  
By Thomas Sanderson_

_An anonymous tip has unveiled a staggering issue at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It has been brought to light that Severus Snape, Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House, has been abusing his students. Professor Snape allegedly served as a spy for the Light during You-Know-Who’s reign of terror, and has worked at Hogwarts ever since the previous professor, Horace Slughorn, announced his retirement in 1981. When Severus Snape began his teaching career at Hogwarts, he initially applied for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but was rejected multiple times. Multiple students have come forward accusing Professor Snape of using Legilimency on them for years, possibly for the duration of his tenure at Hogwarts. Further, Professor Snape has been accused of a deep bias against all non-Slytherin students, unfairly taking points for arbitrary reasons and threatening to feed unsatisfactory potions to students’ pets. Both Professor Snape and Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, were unavailable for comment._

“That ought to put a knot in Dumbledore’s beard,” Harry muttered. “Didn’t make the front page, but it should stir up some mud.”

“So you did do this?” Remus asked.

Harry shrugged. “Sort of. Snape switched sides in the war because he had a thing for my mum.” Both men wrinkled their noses at the thought. “Up until then he was a good little Death Eater. He was the reason my parents had to go into hiding.” Sirius growled under his breath, and Remus looked equally furious. “He does use Legilimency on the students, presumably for funsies. I’ve recorded every time I’ve felt him try to root around in my brain.” Harry shrugged. “Snape hated me from the second he saw me, because my being alive meant that Lily was dead. I’m sure he could have been a nice enough bloke had things gone some other way, this is how things are, and he enjoys being a git. He abuses his students and is the reason Slytherin won the Cup seven years running – he deliberately takes points from other houses just because he can. So I told Dumbledore that if Snape was still employed at the end of the year, I would go to the press. And if he was still teaching at Hogwarts in September, I wouldn’t be attending.”

Both men sputtered at that. “You can’t not go to Hogwarts!” Sirius protested.

“Watch me,” Harry said coldly. “This isn’t just an eleven-year-old’s tantrum.” He let the façade fall and winked at Sirius. “Besides, you know I wouldn’t withdraw, but Dumbledore doesn’t.”

—ML—

“Is there a reason you wanted to come here?” Sirius asked. “I don’t exactly have fond memories of this place.”

“It’s…” Harry paused. “Look, it’s something Dumbledore and I have been working on.”

The man frowned. “I’m not sure I like you two keeping secrets.”

“It’s got to do with beating Voldemort for good,” Harry said softly.

Sirius still looked unsure. “All right. But I’m going to have to have a talk with Dumbledore about this.”

“We’re not in any danger,” Harry assured him. “We go in, get what we need, and then we never have to see this place again.”

“Fine by me,” Sirius muttered. “Come on.” They crossed the street, walking up the steps to the front door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius hesitated as he reached for the doorknob, and Harry put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

The door opened, and both men could smell damp, dust, and the stench of mold inside. “Any idea if there’ll be anyone else here?” Harry whispered.

“Maybe a house-elf, but nobody else,” Sirius said quietly. He flicked his wand at the lamps, light sputtering to life along the walls.

Harry heard mice scuttling behind the baseboards, and glanced around. “Someone really liked snakes as a motif.”

“My family was all Slytherins until me,” Sirius explained. “I wasn’t exactly popular for getting Sorted into Gryffindor.”

The two kept their wands drawn, sidling down the hallway towards the troll leg umbrella stand. “Who’s there?” A voice hissed. Sirius stiffened. “Who enters my house?”

“Hello, mother,” Sirius said softly, stepping forward.

“ _You!_ How dare you darken my home again!”

“Eat me!” Sirius barked. “You’re dead. Stuff it!”

“Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh! Leave my house immediately!” Harry rolled his eyes. “Kreacher! Kreacher, where are you?”

“Kreacher?” Sirius asked incredulously. “He’s still around? I thought he would have hated himself out of existence by now.” The house-elf popped into existence next to Harry, who instinctively booted the traitorous little prick in the face, sending him flying across the room.

“Whoops,” Harry said unconvincingly as the elf slid to the floor, unconscious. “Sorry about that.” Sirius conjured some thick curtains, muffling the painting’s continued screeches. “She seems lovely.”

“Oh, very,” Sirius replied distastefully. “Let’s go.” The pair tied up the house-elf and moved upstairs, still keeping their wands ready. Sirius managed to conceal their presence with a few muttered charms, and the two ignored the doxies buzzing in the drapes as Harry carefully opened the glass-fronted cabinet and found the heavy locket. “What’s so important about this thing, anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” Harry said, picking it up with a cloth and stuffing it in a thick secure box. “But there’s something you should know about it.” He looked Sirius in the eyes. “Your brother died to get it. He turned against the Death Eaters. That’s why they killed him.”

Sirius looked shaken as they left the house, a repeatedly Stunned and bound Kreacher stuffed in a sack and hoisted over Sirius’s shoulder. The two Apparated to Hogsmeade and made their way into Hogwarts, striding up the school’s lawn.

McGonagall emerged from her office, stopping as she spotted them. “Sirius. Harry. What brings you here?”

“Business with Dumbledore,” Sirius explained. “I’m hoping Harry will fill me in on some of it.” He gave his godson a hard look. “I’ve got some questions.”

McGonagall glanced at Harry, who nodded. “I see. Mind if I come along? I know parts of the story, and if Albus hesitates I might be able to help.”

“More the merrier,” Sirius said darkly.

Dumbledore was working on a stack of paperwork when they reached his office, looking up in surprise. “Ah, Harry, Sirius, Minerva. Good to see you all.”

Harry set the box on the desk. “We got it.” Dumbledore’s eyes lit up. “But I think it’s time to read Sirius in.”

Dumbledore frowned. “I see.”

“Albus, this involves Harry,” Sirius said firmly. “I have a right to know. Talk to me.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore replied. “Please, have a seat. You must understand that I did not want Harry involved in this at all. When Voldemort was still in school, he discovered a piece of very Dark magic, known as a Horcrux. It’s an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul, after splitting it through an act of cold-blooded murder.”

Sirius’s face darkened as he made the connection. “And Voldemort has one.”

“Voldemort has _several_ ,” Dumbledore corrected. “The man decided that a single Horcrux would not be enough guarantee to avoid death, and created multiple Horcruxes before his apparent defeat.”

Sirius cursed under his breath. “How many?”

“Total of six,” Harry said. “We know what most of them are and where they are.”

Sirius grunted. “And what’s been done about them?”

Dumbledore reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a box, opening the lid and pulling on a thick glove. “You must understand, Voldemort was obsessed with the Founders and their artifacts. In his time, he managed to encase bits of his soul in a ring that belonged to Salazar Slytherin,” he held up the Gaunt ring, “Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem,” the headpiece had clearly been recovered by the Headmaster at some point, “and now Slytherin’s locket.” He patted the box Harry had brought. “We know the location of another two, but they are currently beyond our reach. A diary, currently in the hands of Lucius Malfoy, and a cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, currently in a vault at Gringotts.”

“And of course, the Dark dick himself,” Harry added. Nobody bothered to correct his language. “There’s another piece of soul out there, but we don’t know how exactly to deal with that yet.”

“And why exactly is Harry involved in this?” Sirius pressed.

Harry grimaced. “Because I got the information. When he tried to kill me, he forged a link between our minds. I can keep him out, but occasionally, I can pick up bits and pieces from him.”

“And you found the locations out that way?” Sirius asked. “I thought you said Regulus died for this locket.”

“Well, we knew what they were and where they were supposed to be, but the locket Voldemort had squirreled away was a fake,” Harry replied. “Regulus stole it with Kreacher’s help. He couldn’t destroy it, so he stashed it in Grimmauld Place.” Sirius looked slightly guilty at the sack he had dropped on the floor. “Dumbledore found that much out, and only recently.”

“My little brother was a hero,” Sirius said softly. “Who’d have guessed?” He glanced at the box with the locket. “So what do we do with that?”

“For the moment, we keep them secure,” Dumbledore said, tipping the locket into the case with the other Horcruxes. “Once we have a way to destroy them safely, we can be rid of them.”

“I can’t say I’m happy that Harry is doing this, but I’m glad we’re being proactive,” Sirius allowed. “But in the future, I’d appreciate being kept in the loop on this.” He allowed a smile to cross his face. “Now on to other business. I understand Remus has accepted your offer to teach. How’s the search for a new Potions professor going?”

Dumbledore’s face tightened. “I do wish that Harry hadn’t given them the information for that article.”

“If I hadn’t, the other twelve current and former students would have,” Harry replied. “I told you, Headmaster, Snape has no place teaching here. If you insist on keeping him on as Potions master despite his inability to be impartial, then I will have to find my education elsewhere.” He shrugged. “Considering I killed your Defense professor last year, why not put Snape in there this year and let me take care of the problem?”

“I already told you, you can’t kill him,” Dumbledore grumbled. Sirius was gaping at him.

“I already killed Quirrell, I might as well go for two,” Harry offered.

“You killed your Defense professor?” Sirius asked.

“He had Voldemort living on the back of his head,” Harry replied. “It was technically self-defense.”

For a brief moment, Sirius wondered if he might have been better off staying in Azkaban. “As much as I like the idea of Snape biting it, what about Horace Slughorn? He was teaching when I was here. Isn’t he just retired?”

“Yes, but he has been very reluctant to come back,” Dumbledore explained. “He seems to be enjoying his retirement.”

“That’s bull,” Harry interrupted. “He thinks he was the one who told Tom Riddle about Horcruxes, and is worried you’ll find out. Truth is Tom already knew about them, he was just worried what would happen if you made more than one.” Harry sighed. “You’d be amazed what I found rattling around in Voldemort’s brain. You know his mum dosed his dad with a love potion?”

“Fascinating,” Dumbledore mused, clearly making some connections he had not before. “With that in mind, I may be able to persuade Horace to return.” He stroked his beard slowly. “The man likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful, and the feeling that he influences these people.”

“I remember that,” Sirius said. “He used to pick favorites at Hogwarts, standouts.”

“Connections,” Harry surmised. “He wants connections with important people.”

Dumbledore nodded. “He had a knack for choosing those who would become persons of notice in the future. Some for their ambition, some for their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he relished in bringing them together, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return.”

Sirius’s face darkened. “And I suppose Harry would make excellent bait for him, wouldn’t he.”

Harry gave Sirius a look. “Sirius, that really makes it sound like he’s after my body.” He glanced at Dumbledore. “He’s not, is he?” Dumbledore’s jaw dropped. “Because after Binns, Snape, and Quirrell, I’m not taking anything for granted from your teaching staff here.”

“If I might steer this conversation back on track,” Dumbledore said, a touch desperately, “if he did return to Hogwarts, he would undoubtedly try to add Harry to his list of influential friends. Knowing this, Harry would be prepared. Horace does provide useful connections, which would undoubtedly be good for Harry’s future, but it would be his decision on whether to use those connections.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m a second-year. I think it’s a bit early to be worrying about what I’m going to do with my life.” He gave Dumbledore a sly look. “And if we were to go together to meet with Slughorn?”

“You _want_ him to try to ‘collect’ you?” Sirius asked incredulously.

“Of course not,” Harry replied. “But _he_ doesn’t know that.”

—ML—

When Harry had previously met Horace Slughorn, the man had been on the run, hiding out in empty Muggle houses while their owners were on holiday. Slughorn had looked upon it as a deep step down, and looking upon the man’s home, Harry understood why.

Slughorn’s retirement ‘cottage’ was bigger than the Dursley’s house, and clearly far more comfortable. The lawn was immaculately maintained, a small greenhouse was attached to one end of the building, and a thin trail of smoke issued from the chimney.

“Talk about overcompensating,” Harry muttered as they crossed the walk from the gate.

“Horace has always fancied himself the kingmaker,” Dumbledore said. “He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see.”

Harry grunted. “I remember my mum was one of his favorites.”

“Your mother was a brilliant witch,” Dumbledore replied, a tinge of pride in his voice. “But let him tell you that. Horace enjoys a great many things, but I feel he enjoys nothing more so than the sound of his own voice.”

When the door opened, Slughorn was giving Dumbledore a smile, but it didn’t reach the man’s watery eyes. “Albus! What brings you here?”

“Sorry to call on you like this, Horace, but I find myself in need of a new Potions professor,” Dumbledore said. “Might we come in?”

Slughorn looked over at Harry, his eyes narrowing as he recognized his eyes. The man’s gaze flicked up to Harry’s scar, and he looked back to Dumbledore. “Of course. Please.”

When they were seated near an open window, Slughorn looked over at Dumbledore. “I saw the piece in the _Prophet_ about Severus. Nasty business.”

“His skill in the field is undeniable, but my first priority must be the students,” Dumbledore said gravely. “I still hope to persuade you to return to Hogwarts.”

“Albus,” the man replied, the smile still not reaching his eyes. “I’m retired.”

“And I know why,” Dumbledore said. Slughorn paled. “Horace, it was not your fault.”

The man was visibly sweating. Harry was still staring at him. “How do you know?”

“That’s not important,” Harry said. “But Tom Riddle knew how to make a Horcrux before he ever spoke to you.”

“You were foolish to discuss it, but your actions have not had the repercussions you believed they did,” Dumbledore went on. Slughorn looked on the verge of tears. “Now that we have cleared up the reasons for your retirement, can we discuss you returning?”

The old man looked unsure as he nervously stroked his mustache. “I suppose I couldn’t leave Hogwarts without a Potions master, could I.”

“The students would benefit from your tutelage,” Albus agreed. “Horace, I am willing to offer you a pay raise, if that’s the issue.”

“Oh, Albus, it was never about the money,” Slughorn replied.

“Then would you excuse me for a moment?” Dumbledore asked. “I’m not as young as I used to be. Might I use your bathroom?”

“Second door on the left,” Slughorn said. Dumbledore strode from the room, and Slughorn looked Harry over. “You’re the striking image of your father, you know.”

“Everyone tells me that,” Harry replied. “But I’ve got my mother’s eyes, apparently.”

“You have no idea how long I wondered,” Slughorn said quietly. “Whether he had made one, or more, or if he had never gotten the nerve.”

“He did,” Harry answered. “And when he comes back, if he comes back, he might be looking for you. You’ll be safer at Hogwarts.”

“He’d be looking for you as well,” Slughorn pointed out. “You’re so young, to have to deal with so much.”

“I’ll deal with that when it happens.” Harry sighed, looking to change the subject. “I understand you taught my parents?”

Slughorn smiled. “Ah, yes. Your father was good enough at Potions, but he never took it seriously enough to make a living at it. But your mother…ah, Lily Evans was one of the brightest I ever taught.”

“I’ve heard that from several people,” Harry said. “Was there anything she wasn’t good at?”

“Giving up,” Slughorn chuckled. “Once that girl put her mind to something, heaven help anyone who stood in her way. She excelled at Charms and was a deft hand at Potions, although I understand she and your father had a friendly rivalry over the top spot in Transfiguration.” His smile faded slightly. “If there were ever two rising stars that never reached their peak…”

Harry patted him on the arm. “It’s all right, Prof…er…Mister Slughorn?”

“Horace, for now,” Slughorn replied.

“Horace,” Harry said, feigning a sense of awkwardness with the name. “Look, I’ll level with you, before Professor Dumbledore comes back. He brought me to entice you into coming back.”

“I guessed as much,” Slughorn commented. “He doesn’t usually bring students to meetings like this.”

“I understand you enjoy meeting people at Hogwarts, spotting the future standouts,” Harry continued. Slughorn nodded. “Well, I suppose that means Dumbledore is leading with what he sees as his biggest draw. But there are so many others. Not to be too obvious, but the world’s changing, and you have the chance to meet the leaders of tomorrow.” Harry smiled. “The question is, are you willing to put up with teaching to do it?”

Slughorn looked at him warily for several moments. “You know, the funny thing is I know you're playing me, but you're right. You are far too wily for your age, Harry.”

Harry grinned.

—ML—

Harry dropped onto the couch, his bag by the door. “I’m never traveling with you two again.”

“That was not our fault,” Sirius insisted. “Neville was the one who started the fire!”

“You collapsed a building!” Remus pointed out. “And a centuries-old Roman ruin!”

Sirius waved a hand. “Minor damage. The local Aurors can set it right in half an hour.”

“You caused a half-million Galleons in damage!”

“Details.”

Harry wondered at what point he had become the mature one in the household. “Have a fun holiday, Harry?” Fleamont asked from his portrait.

“I don’t think we’re ever going to be allowed back in Italy again, but it was nice while it lasted,” Harry replied.

“On the bright side, I’ve never been barred from an entire country before,” Sirius mused. “I mean, I’m no longer welcome in Essex County and both Prongs and I were banned from the entire state of Louisiana, but this is new for me.”

“Mardi Gras got weird one year,” Remus said as Harry looked baffled.

“Remus got out of that one, but we had to spend another three days looking for him,” Sirius recalled. “We never did find out how he wound up in Cuba.”

Remus shrugged. “Still not a patch on James’ bachelor party.”

Sirius sniggered. “Oh, boy. I don’t think Harry’s old enough to hear about that one.”

“I already need therapy,” Harry commented. “How much worse could you two make it?”

“Never ask that question,” Fleamont warned.

—ML—

Harry ripped open the letter from Hogwarts, skimming the book list. “Hey, Remus? You fancy a trip downstairs?”

The man looked up from buttering some toast. “Need your school things?”

“Mostly books, but I could use some fresh potion ingredients too,” Harry said as Sirius ambled in. Sirius snagged the piece of toast out of Remus’s hand as he passed, the werewolf glancing over at Sirius as he took a bite and then at his empty hand. “Also need to pick up some owl treats for Hedwig. The last box I have is running low.”

“Sounds good,” Remus said. “I could use some wand polish too.”

“Fair enough,” Harry replied, looking over as the mobile phone he had bought began buzzing. “Huh. Didn’t expect this thing to ever actually get a call.” He connected the call. “Liverpool morgue, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em, how may I direct your call?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “I…Harry?”

“Yeah, Hermione, it’s me,” Harry said with a grin. “How’s your summer going?”

“Well, I’ve been busy with schoolwork, of course, and my parents haven’t quite recovered from our big trip to Italy, but I wanted to know if you wanted to meet up in Diagon Alley.”

“Hermione, I _live_ in Diagon Alley,” Harry laughed. “I can meet you whenever.”

“How’s Wednesday sound?”

“Wednesday?” Remus nodded, and Harry smiled. “Sounds fine by me. I’ll see you then.” He hung up, spotting Sirius and Remus sharing a grin. “Uh-oh. When you two smile like that, I get nervous.”

“Just how close are you with Hermione?” Remus asked.

Harry paused. “I…I dunno,” he said evasively. “She’s one of my best friends, and she’s always looking out for me. But I think Ron might have a thing for her.”

Sirius shrugged. “Well, he might, he might not. You’re young yet. But you’re a Potter. Potter blokes are notorious for making googly eyes over brainy birds.”

“Runs in the family,” Fleamont called from Euphemia’s portrait, beaming at his wife. “Hermione is that charming girl you brought home before your first year?”

“Oh-ho!” Sirius said triumphantly.

“Not like that,” Harry shot back. “Fleamont, back me up here!”

“The two couldn’t stop smiling at each other,” Fleamont teased.

“Give it a few years, Harry dear,” Euphemia added. “Who knows?”

Harry paused, distinctly remembering puberty hitting Hermione like a freight train, and making some connections with her different behavior in this timeline. “Hm. I…I guess we’ll see.”

A few days later, Harry and Remus were finishing their lunch at a small café in the Alley, when Harry spotted Hermione’s bushy mop approaching. He waved, spotting a still slightly shell-shocked Chloe behind her. “Hermione!”

The girl pulled him into a tight hug, and Harry spotted Chloe giving him an appraising look before she met Remus’s gaze behind him, a smile flitting across her face. “It’s good to see you!”

“Yes, yes it is,” Harry said. Hermione rolled her eyes, but her grin gave her away. “Chloe, you’re looking better.”

“I may never set foot on a hot air balloon again,” she said softly. “Remus?”

Remus nodded. “I’m still somewhat shaken myself.”

“Oh, good news,” Harry said. “Remus accepted the offer – he’s going to be our new Defense professor.”

“That’s brilliant!” Hermione cheered. “Remus, you’ll be a great professor!”

The werewolf smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Hermione. I expect you two to do well in my class.”

Getting their books and supplies didn’t take long, and as they passed the Magical Menagerie Harry pointed out an enchanted toy mouse that would run away for Crookshanks.

They were almost done when Harry spotted a mass of redheads coming down the Alley and remembered that the Weasleys had picked today for their school supply trip in the previous timeline as well. It only took a few moments for the groups to come together and exchange pleasantries, Harry congratulating Percy on picking up twelve OWLs and enduring some good-natured ribbing from the Twins.

“We’re just headed over to Gringotts, but we’ve got to get our things after,” Mrs. Weasley was saying.

“We’ve got our books and supplies, but…” Harry glanced at Remus. “I don’t think we have any other commitments today, do we?”

Remus shrugged. “I’ll have to check my day planner.” He stood there for a moment. “Yeah, we’re free.” Mr. Weasley chuckled. “Tell you what. Chloe, how about you and Hermione drop your things back at our flat and we’ll meet you outside Gringotts? I’ve been meaning to refill our money pouches as well.”

The small, goblin-driven carts were just as uncomfortably fast as Harry remembered, and the boy took no small amount of pleasure at the sight of the healthy pile of coins that were inside. The first time he had seen it, there had only been a few Sickles inside and a single Galleon, but thanks to the fat signing bonus Harry had given Arthur and the man’s weighty paycheck, there was a respectable pile of Galleons inside with a handful of Sickles and a few bronze Knuts lying inside. Mrs. Weasley scooped a handful of Galleons into her bag, before passing around a few of the gold coins to each of her children. “Spending money for school,” she explained. “We’ll take care of your things.”

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to a robe shop, and Molly pestered Ron into coming along so he could get new robes as well. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking Remus and Chloe off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

“We’ll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks,” Molly called, setting off with her two youngest children.

Arthur waited for them to leave, before grinning. “Before we go for that drink, I need to go by Quality Quidditch Supplies. Molly said we should get the boys new brooms.”

“What are you going to pick up for them?” Harry asked.

“The Cleansweep Seven,” Arthur replied. “They’ve been using the Fives for years, terribly out of date, you know. They’ll be out of their heads when they find out.”

Harry snickered. “You might want to consider getting Ron one for Christmas – he’s going to try out for the Quidditch team. Oliver Wood has seen him fly and thought he could make a good reserve Keeper.”

The group picked up the brooms, and Harry spied Hermione eyeing a few items in the store as Arthur paid. “I have to admit, Harry, I am very glad I took the job,” Arthur said as they left. “It’s…nice, to be doing what I love.” He winked at the Boy-Who-Lived. “And the money doesn’t hurt.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry chuckled. “There was some saying I heard a while back – money can’t buy happiness, but it’s much nicer to cry on a broom than a bicycle.” Arthur snorted. “We’re going to catch up with Ron. Meet you at Flourish and Blotts?”

Harry and Hermione were working on large ice creams as they wandered up the Alley, each holding a spare under cooling charms helpfully cast by the vendor. Ron and Ginny emerged from Madam Malkin’s a few moments after the two arrived, overjoyed when Harry and Hermione handed them the spare ice creams. Molly had the packages under her arms and was giving her twin boys the gimlet eye as they emerged from Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop with a suspiciously bulging rucksack.

“Let’s go,” she said, Percy walking out of a secondhand book shop with his nose buried in a small ratty tome he had just purchased and falling in behind them.

Without the idiocy that Lockhart brought wherever he went slowing them down, getting their textbooks was a simple task. Harry was keeping a watchful eye out, spotting Malfoy lurking around in the back of the bookshop as he helped Ginny pick out her textbooks.

“Shame I already sold mine back,” Harry mumbled, “Or I could just give you them. They were practically new.” He snorted. “Of course, I hardly got anything for them. Might as well have kept them to even out the coffee table.” Ginny giggled.

“Got yourself a girlfriend, Potter?” Malfoy drawled from the end of the aisle.

“She’s not my girlfriend, but really, Malfoy, how many times do I have to tell you I’m not gay?” Harry replied, flipping through a copy of the basic Transfiguration textbook and tucking it into the basket. “Find a boyfriend someplace else!”

The blond sneered at him, before looking at Ginny. “Another Weasel. How many more of you are decent wizards going to have to put up with?”

“Watch yourself, Malfoy,” Ron said, shoving past him to join Harry. “Your goons aren’t here to watch out for you.”

“Shut it, Weasel,” Malfoy snapped. “I can buy and sell you.”

“No, _your daddy_ can buy and sell me,” Ron shot back, and Harry fought back a smirk. “But even he can’t buy respect.”

“Ron, you almost done?” Arthur asked, coming around the corner.

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco’s shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

Before Arthur could respond, Harry interrupted. “Hang on. The ridiculous cane, the fancy hair, the general sex-offender air…this can only be Useless Malfoy. Excuse me, Lucius Malfoy.” The man’s face twitched, but kept up his mask of indifference. “I guess teaching ignorance is easier than teaching intelligence, which certainly explains Draco.”

“I suppose you must be Harry Potter,” Lucius finally replied as Draco seethed.

“I suppose you’re so flamingly gay that conceiving the one inbred child you wound up with required far too much alcohol and some supportive charms,” Harry said. Ron’s jaw dropped.

Lucius stared at him a moment, presumably wondering whether he could get away with murdering Harry in public. “I see Gryffindor produces no less disgraceful wizards than they did when I was at Hogwarts.” He reached into Ginny’s basket and extracted the copy of _A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ Harry had picked out for her, flipping it open. “I suppose we’ll have to see how the youngest of your spawn turns out, Arthur. But I wouldn’t hope for much.”

“Mister Malfoy, have you ever been kicked in the bollocks before?” Harry asked. Lucius stared at him. “I’m guessing not. Would you like to change that? It’s quite an experience.” Ron was turning bright red, clearly trying not to burst out laughing.

“Don’t make me get unpleasant, boy,” Lucius snarled.

“I can’t improve on nature,” Harry replied, pointing at the door. “I realize centuries of inbreeding have taken their toll, but there’s the exit. I suggest you leave before things get unpleasant.”

Lucius dropped the textbook back onto the pile in Ginny’s arms, his eyes glittering. He beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop, shouldering past Sirius, who was standing in the doorway.

“Don’t touch that book,” Harry warned, flipping the textbook open. As he had expected, the diary was inside. “That _bastard_.”

“What is that?” Arthur asked as Harry signaled Sirius. The man pulled a magic muting cloth from his pocket, shaking it open and picking up the diary.

“A powerful Dark artifact,” Sirius explained, tucking it into a box. “Lucius Malfoy slipped it into the book.” Arthur turned purple. “We do however have multiple witnesses to him doing it. He might squirm his way out with a few donations, but he certainly won’t be enjoying himself for a while.” He grinned at Mr. Weasley. “Fancy a pretzel, Arthur?”

—ML—

Harry woke up at noon, relishing not having to worry about doing chores. Making sure Hedwig had water in her dish, he yawned, stretched, and stood up, sticking his wand into the waistband of his pajama pants. A quick shower and an energetic teeth-brushing later, Harry strode into the sitting room of the flat, yawning again.

“ _Surprise!_ ” A dozen voices yelled at once. Harry dove for cover, sending a barrage of hexes downrange. Screams echoed around the flat, and Harry heard Fleamont hollering “It’s all right, Harry! It’s all right!”

The Boy-Who-Lived poked his head up over the couch. “Whoops. Sorry, folks.”

“We’ll live,” Dumbledore said, having blocked most of the spells with a quick Shield Charm. “Impressive reflexes, though.”

“I recognized one of those spells,” Sirius said. “I didn’t think you’d have the hang of that one yet.”

“Can someone please set me right?” Remus asked, who was unlucky enough to be outside the range of Dumbledore’s shield and had been transfigured into a midget again.

“I don’t know, I kinda like you this way,” Harry said. “Sorry, everyone, I’ve never had a surprise party before. Actually I’ve never had a birthday party before.”

“Note to self,” Alan Granger said as Sirius undid the Jelly-Legs Jinx on him. “Never surprise Harry before he’s had his morning tea.”

“Wise decision,” Harry yawned, combing his fingers through his hair. “Well then!”

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” Hermione said warmly, pouncing on him and giving him a tight hug.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry replied. “Sorry about the hexing.”

“Still a midget,” Remus chimed in.

“Give the boy his presents!” Hagrid boomed from the back of the room.

“Right!” Ron hefted a large box. “This is from all of the Weasleys.” Harry ripped open the wrapping paper and found a complete set of new Quidditch armor inside. “In case Remus jinxes your broomstick.”

“Oi!”

“Fred and George wanted me to make sure to tell you that the codpiece was from them.” Harry burst out laughing.

Harry rapped his knuckles on the arm guards. “Whoo. Good stuff.” He set it aside, pulling Ron into a hug. “Thanks, mate.” The boy was blushing redder than his hair as Hermione thrust another present into Harry’s hands.

“This is from me,” she said excitedly. Harry ripped back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case, with silver words stamped across it, reading _Broomstick Servicing Kit_.

“Wow, Hermione!” Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside. There was a large jar of Fleetwood’s High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare. “This is awesome!”

Hagrid had gotten him a large box of treacle fudge, and Dumbledore presented him with a heavy book on Defense Against the Dark Arts that was packed in enchanted socks. Harry did his best to thank the Headmaster around a mouthful of fudge, bringing laughter from the other attendees. Sirius and Remus had gone in together on what they referred to as a ‘baby’s first prankster kit,’ filled with joke items and how-to prank books.

There were conversations, jokes, laughter, cake, and singing as the day wore on. Harry wound up with a conjured tin crown perched on his head and streamers stuck to both his hands, courtesy of a jinx from the still-midget Remus. At one point, Dumbledore managed to pull Harry aside.

“No word on Voldemort’s location, but we’ve turned the memories provided and the diary over to the Ministry,” the Headmaster said quietly. “I must admit I am not entirely…comfortable, with letting a Horcrux like that out of our sight again…”

“But Voldemort is only part of the problem,” Harry finished. “If we don’t take down the other Death Eaters as well, we’re leaving a systemic issue in place.”

Dumbledore nodded. “The planning for the ritual is proceeding well, but I believe we’re a ways off yet.”

“What are you two doing off in the corner like this?” Hagrid asked, lumbering over.

“I was just telling young Harry here about the results of your exams,” Dumbledore said smoothly. “Passed with flying colors. A little trouble with the OWL, but considering they usually ask about creatures too small to hold Hagrid’s interest…”

Harry grinned. “They don’t cover dragons and chimera until the NEWT level, then?”

Hagrid blushed. “I know enough about redcaps an’ hinkypunks that it wasn’t nothin’.”

“On the contrary,” Dumbledore said serenely. “I’m afraid I must raise your salary, Hagrid. You’ll be serving as Associate Professor to Professor Kettleburn this year, and he was overjoyed to hear of your success.”

“Bloke always believed in me,” Hagrid agreed. “He still retiring?”

Dumbledore nodded. “When he heard of your performance on the exams, he agreed to stay on another year to help you acclimate to the position. If you do well, you will be the Care of Magical Creatures Professor starting next year.”

“Congratulations!” Harry cheered. “You got yourself a new wand yet?”

Hagrid pulled it out of his pocket. “Sixteen inches, made o’ chestnut with a phoenix feather.” Harry grinned at the half-giant. “I’m lookin’ forward ter the challenge.”

“Minerva and Filius have agreed to tutor you in their off hours,” Dumbledore added, smiling proudly. “You have a great deal of work to do, Hagrid. If you require any assistance, please, let me know.”

The half-giant looked like he was about to burst into tears of joy, and trotted off to get a drink. Harry looked to Dumbledore. “His expulsion being overturned makes me wonder, though. The first time ‘round, Fudge was dead set against the idea of Voldemort still being alive, to the point that they ran a smear campaign against us. Why was Fudge willing to accept the admission of Voldemort’s wraith?”

“I suspect it has a great deal to do with Pettigrew’s testimony,” Dumbledore replied.

“And that’s another thing,” Harry went on. “Sirius being found innocent, Pettigrew being apprehended, the shakedown in the Ministry, none of it made the papers. How is it that they’ve kept this quiet?”

“By not telling the politicians.” At Harry’s confused look, Dumbledore shrugged. “Harry, in any government there are two types of people. There are workers, who keep the state of affairs in order, like Mister Weasley used to be before he departed for the private sector. The Aurors, most of the people in the regulatory branches of the Ministry, people such as that. Their interests lie in doing their jobs, doing them well, and making things as simple as possible for themselves in the process. And then there are the politicians, such as Minister Fudge, or a great deal of the Wizengamot. People who are more interested in their own betterment or personal power, the sort of people who exist apparently to make things as complicated as possible for everyone else.” Harry snickered. “Amelia Bones and her Aurors have been very carefully and very quietly investigating the people who have been implicated in Pettigrew’s testimony. Even I do not know where he is being held. But they have been very careful to keep the news of this from people who would leak it to the press. Minister Fudge himself has been very tight-lipped about it.”

“Because if he leaks it, he might lose the opportunity to make himself look good with it,” Harry finished. “Got it.”

“Exactly, Harry.” The old man beamed at him. “Well then. Let us go enjoy the festivities, shall we?”

For the moment, seemed things as well as they could be. So, naturally, that was when the world started winding up for a curveball.

That evening, Harry had collapsed onto his bed, stuffed full of good food and cheer. He closed his eyes, starting to doze off, only to open them a moment later as he realized he wasn’t alone. He subtly drew his wand, preparing to defend himself as he heard faint breathing in the room.

“Are you going to say something, or just stand there breathing?” he said, preparing a shield charm.

“Harry Potter!” said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honor it is…”

“Dobby?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. “I…hello.” Looking into the house-elf’s bulging green eyes, he forced away the image of the elf dead in his arms. “If we’re going to talk, I would ask that you be quiet. We wouldn’t want to wake up the others.” The elf nodded. “What brings you here?”

“Dobby has come to tell you, sir… it is difficult, sir… Dobby wonders where to begin…”

“You could begin by sitting down,” Harry offered.

The elf burst into tears, and Harry felt a momentary urge to go and curse Lucius Malfoy into a pile of jelly. “ _S-sit down_!” he wailed. “ _Never_ … _never ever_ …”

“Easy, easy,” Harry said, patting the elf on the back. “Would you prefer to stand?”

“Dobby has _never_ been asked to sit down by a wizard — like an _equal_ —”

“Dobby, you _are_ an equal,” Harry insisted. “Now sit down, take a deep breath,” he seized a box of tissues off the desk, “and blow your nose.” The elf blew his nose with a high-pitched whistle, and Harry gave him a smile. “Can I offer you a drink?” The elf burst into fresh tears. “All right, no drink. Can you tell me who you’re bonded to?”

“Dobby cannot,” the elf said.

Harry grunted. “Well, whoever they are, they can’t be worth much, if they treat you so poorly.”

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, “ _Bad_ Dobby! _Bad_ Dobby!”

“Enough!” Harry hissed. “No punishing yourself! Not here!” Dobby slowly stopped, having gone slightly cross-eyed from the head trauma. “Look, I know elves aren’t supposed to speak ill of their family, but you don’t punish yourself for that. All right?” The elf nodded tearfully. “Now, what brings you here at this time of night?”

“Ah, sir,” he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. “Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! Why, Dobby heard that Harry Potter has faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named twice and escaped unharmed!”

“More or less,” Harry admitted grudgingly.

“But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him… _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts_.”

There was a long pause. “And why not?” Harry asked pointedly. “My marks weren’t _that_ bad.”

“Harry Potter must stay where he is safe,” Dobby insisted. “He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.”

“I’m in mortal danger more often than is probably healthy,” Harry said. “What is it now?”

“There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,” whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. “Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Lucius Malfoy slipping a Dark item into someone’s luggage, would it?” Harry asked. Dobby’s already bulbous eyes bugged out. “I know about it already, Dobby. We’ve intercepted it.”

“Harry Potter is truly a great wizard,” Dobby breathed.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not. It wasn’t me who spotted it,” he lied. “Now, Dobby…” He paused. “There’s a great deal that I would like to tell you, but can’t. It would put you at risk, and I would like to help you.”

“Harry Potter is _concerned_ about Dobby,” the elf said quietly. “Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby… Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew…”

“Dobby, do Memory Charms work on house-elves?” Harry asked.

“In a way,” the elf said uncomfortably. “The knowledge can only be given to a wizard by a house-elf.”

“I can tell you so much, but I would need to remove the knowledge afterwards,” Harry explained. “I wouldn’t want to put you into a conflict of interest with the family you serve.”

“Harry Potter trusts Dobby so,” Dobby marveled. “Dobby will trust Harry Potter.” The two ran over the basics, and once they felt he had a grasp of the concept, Harry sat down on the bed, facing the elf perched on his desk chair.

“All right, Dobby, listen closely. We’ve met before. Years ago, before my second year.” Dobby looked confused. “I was staying at my Muggle relatives at the time, and you tried to prevent me from returning to Hogwarts. You stole my mail, blocked me from boarding the Hogwarts Express, and set a Bludger on me at a Quidditch match. But thanks to an absurd amount of luck and a filthy sock, I got you freed. You worked at Hogwarts for a time, but in my seventh year, you saved my life and the life of my friends…at the cost of your own.” Dobby was staring at him, enraptured by the tale. “You died in my arms, Dobby, a free elf. A good elf, and one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. After Vol…er, You-Know-Who,” he corrected himself as the elf flinched slightly, “was defeated for good, the cost was too high. I was sent back in time, and I’m not going to let anyone get hurt. That’s how I knew about Lucius Malfoy’s plot.”

“Harry Potter is truly a great wizard,” Dobby whispered.

“No, I’ve just done this all before,” Harry said with a grin. “Now, Dobby, I need you to trust me. I’m going to get you away from the Malfoys, somehow. But until then, I need you to go on about your business as usual, and I need you not to mess with me at Hogwarts, all right?” The elf nodded rapidly, his ears flapping. “Good. Now, I’m going to need to at least bind the memory of what I just told you. That way you won’t get hurt.”

“Dobby understands,” the brave elf said. “Do it.”

Harry focused carefully, pointing his wand at the elf. “ _Obliviate_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, the response to this is better than I had ever expected. This is a day late for Harry's birthday, but eh, close enough for government work.

The next day, Harry met the Weasleys and the Grangers at the station, Sirius and Remus waiting patiently on the platform with him. “Now promise me you’ll play nice with the other kids,” Sirius was saying tearfully, fussing with his friend’s collar. “And promise me you’ll write every day!”

Remus bore it good-naturedly. “Yes, mum. I will, mum.”

“Oh, I’m just so proud of you,” Sirius gushed.

“Padfoot, half the people here already think you’re gay, don’t add fuel to the fire,” Remus warned.

The Animagus sobered. “Yeah, I think that joke ran its course.”

Harry snorted. “Everyone ready to go?”

“We’re all ready,” Molly said happily. “Had to turn around a few times, but we’re all here now!”

“Well come on, then, it’s just a few minutes before the train leaves,” Remus urged, holding Sirius at arm’s length as the goofy man kept trying to embarrass him. “Here, let me get that,” he offered, tapping Ginny’s trunk with his wand and charming it feather-light.

“How come you didn’t do that for me?” Harry demanded, grunting as he hefted his trunk.

“Because you turned me into a midget,” Remus replied.

Harry paused. “Okay, that’s fair.”

The group wrestled their trunks on board, Remus giving them a warm nod and heading forward as the others settled into a compartment near the rear of the train. Ginny was sitting in the corner, clearly uneasy as Hermione slumped into a chair, Crookshanks’ carrier safely stashed on a shelf.

“Nervous?” Harry asked as the train’s whistle blew. He glanced out the window, seeing Sirius waving a handkerchief in as hammy a manner as possible and rolled his eyes.

“A little,” Ginny admitted.

“It’s normal,” Harry reassured her. “Relax. You’ve got four brothers at this school to look out for you.” He didn’t mention that without a Horcrux affecting her, Ginny stood a much better chance of a calm, constructive first year. Not having to arrive at school by crashing a car into the Whomping Willow was already an improvement for him.

“Yeah,” Ginny scoffed. “Four brothers at the same school as me. That’s what worries me.”

“Hey,” Ron protested. “That hurts.”

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said with a wink. “I’ll teach you the good jinxes so you can keep them in line.”

“Hey!” Harry protested this time. Ginny giggled, and Harry gave her a smile.

“Oh, there you are,” Neville said, entering the compartment. Luna trailed in behind him, and Harry nodded in greeting as she sat down, burying her nose in a copy of _The Quibbler_.

The train ride was a subdued affair, although part of Harry’s mind was still on edge as he expected Voldemort to crash through the windows at any moment, things having been too quiet for too long. Hermione and Ginny were chattering away, the second-year apparently gleeful at having a captive audience who was actually interested in the piles of Hogwarts factoids she knew. Ron, Neville, and Harry were discussing the upcoming Quidditch season, tossing ideas back and forth about the possibilities for Slytherin’s new Seeker, as Terence Higgs had graduated.

As they approached Hogwarts, the group changed into their uniforms, Ron and Ginny sharing a happy look as they smoothed out their new robes. All three students had staunchly refused to tell her how the Sorting was done, but had assured her that it did no permanent harm and that she was likely to wind up in Gryffindor.

“Just follow Hagrid,” Harry said, patting Ginny on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, yeah? No matter what House either of you wind up in, we’ve got your back.” The redhead nodded, unable to hide her smile, and trotted off with Luna.

Harry grabbed a seat next to Ron and Neville, Hermione sitting across from them alongside Percy and the Weasley twins. Dean Thomas plunked down in a seat nearby. “Have a good summer, Harry?”

“I took care of some things, yeah,” Harry said with a nod. “I think some of you will be _very_ happy to hear about some of it.”

“Tell us after the Sorting,” Percy warned. “Best be quiet.”

“A Sickle says Ginny winds up in Gryffindor,” Harry whispered.

“No bet,” Ron said. “She’s a Weasley. We’re Gryffindors, through and through.”

“Shh!” Percy glared at them as the first-years filed in. The Sorting Hat’s song came and went, and Harry watched as the students were slowly Sorted. He spotted Colin Creevey taking a seat down the length of the table from him and grimaced as he remembered the boy’s body being carried away by Oliver Wood during the final battle.

When Luna sat down and put on the Hat, there was a long, long pause. The Hat seemed almost baffled, before it opened the rip that passed for its mouth and said, “Ravenclaw?”

Percy’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’ve never heard the Hat be unsure before.”

Harry shrugged. “Luna’s an odd duck.”

The Hat had barely settled on Ginny’s head before it chuckled, before hollering “Gryffindor!” The Weasleys hollered, and Harry thumped on the table as Hermione added her own cheer to the clamor. Ginny sat down between Fred and George, blushing furiously.

Dumbledore stood, beaming at the students. “Welcome, all, to another year at Hogwarts. Without further ado, let us dig in!”

Harry helped himself to some roast chicken and potatoes, giving Seamus a wave as he spotted the sandy-haired boy digging in next to Dean.

“Ah, another batch of new students!” Nearly Headless Nick said as he popped up through the table. “Welcome to Hogwarts!”

“Hello,” Ginny said shyly.

“You must be Ginny,” Nicholas said warmly. “Your brothers have told me all about you!”

“Maybe we can be friends anyway,” Ginny replied brightly.

The ghost chuckled. “Welcome. I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Resident ghost of the Gryffindor Tower. If you ever need anything, please, call upon me.”

“Thank you, Sir Nicholas,” the girl said shyly. He nodded, moving on and introducing himself to other students. “Is it true they call him Nearly Headless Nick?”

“Yeah, but don’t ask him why,” Harry warned. “At least not while you’re eating.”

As the last of the puddings vanished, a disappointed groan coming from the direction of the Ravenclaw table, Dumbledore stood up. “Now that I have your attention, a few start-of-term notices! We have several additions to our teaching staff. First off, Professor Slughorn has consented to come out of retirement to teach Potions!” A cheer went up from the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor tables, although several Slytherin students looked murderous. The other Gryffindors were looking at Harry questioningly, who didn’t bother to hide his smirk.

“He will also be taking over the position of Head of Slytherin House,” Dumbledore continued. “Secondly, with the departure of Professor Quirrell,” several heads swiveled around to look at Harry, who studiously ignored them, “Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year!” The Gryffindors put up a loud cheer, led by Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys, and Remus failed to hold back a grin as he waved. “And finally, Rubeus Hagrid, our longtime gamekeeper, has attained his Mastery in Care of Magical Creatures, and will be assisting Professor Kettleburn with his duties.” Harry set off a cannon blast from his wand before he joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Harry leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

Dumbledore was beaming. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were the last to stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started speaking again, they saw that Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth. “It is good to see such enthusiasm from our student body. Now, it is getting late, so let us all go to bed and get a fresh start tomorrow morning!”

Dean and Seamus pulled Harry aside as the other students were filing out. “You got Snape sacked?”

“Who, me?” Harry asked innocently. “Of course not. Snape was terminated after his abusive behavior towards the students and illegally practicing Mind Arts on his classes made the papers. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You just sent the note to the _Prophet_ ,” an icy voice said from behind him. Harry stood stock still, momentarily wondering whether he was hallucinating. “Truly, Potter, I have misjudged you. I thought you arrogant and foolish, just like your father. In fact, you are _far_ more arrogant than he ever was.”

“Ah, _Mister_ Snape,” Harry replied. “What brings you back to Hogwarts? I figured they wouldn’t allow you within five hundred meters of a school after what you’ve done.”

“You have far too much cheek, boy,” Snape hissed.

“It wasn’t me,” Harry said. “But your assumption that it was is just proof that you have no business teaching here.”

“I _will_ get you-” Snape broke off as McGonagall appeared behind them, her face stony. “Minerva.”

“Severus,” McGonagall said coldly. “Why are you harassing my students?” The man glared at her, but turned on his heel and swept away.

“What’s he still doing here?” Harry asked quietly. “The berk got fired.”

“Professor Dumbledore allowed him to stay on as a potioneer, but he will not be interacting with the students,” McGonagall said. “Now, off to bed.”

Seamus and Dean were pestering Harry all the way up to the Gryffindor Tower, and once he was safely behind the portrait hole he grabbed Hermione, Ron, and Ginny, all who were waiting up for him. “All right, all right, listen up,” he said. “Yes, I was involved in Snape getting sacked, but it wasn’t just me. You know how you always get the impression that Snape can read minds? Well, he can. He’s been using Legilimency on students for years. I sent a few owls, contacted a dozen other students from across the years, and anyone who’s had the slightest bit of proper Occlumency training has felt him try to read their thoughts. That, plus everything else he’s done? One of them sent in a tip to the _Prophet_ , and things sort of spiraled from there.”

“So it _wasn’t_ you who sent the note,” Seamus realized.

“Nope. But I got the ball rolling. And I helped Dumbledore get Slughorn to come back.” He glanced over at Hermione. “Fair warning. The bloke thinks of himself as a kingmaker. So if he starts kissing up to you, be careful. He’s…well, to be fair, he likes bringing people together, making introductions. But he always expects something in return somewhere down the line.”

“Connections,” Hermione surmised.

“Exactly. So be aware – if he invites you to tea or anything like that, he probably thinks you’re going someplace, but he’s also going to try to ride on your coattails the whole way there.”

—ML—

Harry was practically bouncing on his heels as they walked towards the greenhouses for their first class of the year, double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. With Riddle’s diary as secure as it could be, Voldemort presumably in hiding in Albania, and most of his Death Eaters either locked up, on the run, or soon to be facing criminal charges, Harry was looking forward to a calm, relaxing year at Hogwarts.

“Greenhouse three, everyone!” Professor Sprout called happily. Harry thought back, remembering that this was their first Mandrake repotting, and resolved to alter the timeline a bit farther. “We’ll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake?”

To nobody’s surprise, Hermione’s hand was first into the air. Neville’s followed hers a moment later, and Sprout eyed Hermione for a moment before calling on Neville.

“Mandrakes are restoratives,” the boy said shyly. “If someone’s been cursed, or transfigured, it’ll help heal them. But you have to be careful with them, because their cry can be fatal.”

“Correct,” Professor Sprout replied. “Take ten points for Gryffindor, and another ten for knowing the danger they pose.” Neville smiled, and Harry nudged him, giving him a grin. “Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young. Everyone take a pair of earmuffs, and make sure your ears are _completely_ covered.”

Everyone gathered around the trays after scrambling to find a pair of earmuffs that weren’t pink and fluffy. Harry immediately picked up a pink pair, tapping them with his wand and turning them Gryffindor red. Sprout smiled faintly as she spotted him working. She circled around the table, making sure everyone had their earmuffs on properly.

Sprout snapped on a pair of earmuffs, rolled up her sleeves, and casually ripped a Mandrake out of the tray, dumping it into a large plant pot and pouring compost on top of it. She dusted her hands off, set the pot aside, and signaled the class to take off their earmuffs.

“As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won’t kill yet,” she said calmly as though she’d just done nothing more exciting than water a begonia. “However, they _will_ knock you out for several hours, and as I’m sure none of you want to miss your first day back, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up. Any questions?” Nobody raised a hand, so Sprout shrugged. “Four to a tray — there is a large supply of pots here — compost in the sacks over there — and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it’s teething. Won’t kill you, but it won’t tickle, either.” She gave a sharp slap to a spiky, dark red plant as she spoke, making it draw in the long feelers that had been inching sneakily over her shoulder.

Neville wound up snagged by several Hufflepuffs who knew of his skill in the subject, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were joined at their tray by a boy Harry thought looked familiar until he started talking.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley,” he said brightly, shaking Harry by the hand. “Know who you are, of course, the famous Harry Potter… And you’re Hermione Granger — always top in everything.” Hermione beamed as she had her hand shaken too. “You’re Ron Weasley, right?” Ron nodded. “Heard you wrestle dragons.”

“Only part-time,” Ron admitted. “I’m training Neville in that. He’s working his way up from wyverns.”

“Ruddy impressive, still. My name was down for Eton, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead.”

They didn’t have much chance to chat after that as everyone snapped their earmuffs on to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth. Harry glanced over to see if Sprout was watching before punching a particularly obstinate one in the face and dunking it into a pot. Ron was clearly snickering under his earmuffs as he saw Harry piling compost on the dazed Mandrake with more relish than was strictly necessary.

By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to Transfiguration.

Harry feigned difficulty for as long as he could bear, before calmly transfiguring the beetle into a coat button. Ron and Neville weren’t far behind him, both beaming as they managed to perfectly transfigure their beetles after a few tries. Ron was less than thrilled when Harry started trying to transfigure his button back and accidentally gave it legs it tried to scuttle away on.

They headed down for lunch, and the four of them sat out in the overcast courtyard, Hermione burying her nose in the year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook as Neville and Ron chatted about Quidditch. Harry glanced over, spotting Colin Creevey standing nearby, staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

“Colin Creevey, right?” Harry asked.

The boy turned redder. “Yes – yes, I’m Colin,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. “I’m in Gryffindor, too. D’you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?” he said, raising the camera hopefully.

“Yeah, but not here,” Harry replied. “Catch me after classes, yeah?” Colin nodded eagerly. “Have a seat, let’s talk.”

“I…really?” Harry nodded, and Hermione looked up from her book, giving Colin a small smile as the boy nervously sat down.

“Why exactly did you want a picture?” Harry asked.

“So I can prove I’ve met you,” Colin said eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your forehead and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures’ll _move_.”

Harry marveled momentarily as the boy managed to say it all in one breath. “Oh, you’re a Muggleborn?” Colin nodded. “Hermione is too. I was raised in the Muggle world. Bit of a shock, isn’t it? Magic, Hogwarts, finding out dragons, unicorns, ghosts, they’re all real?”

Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, “Yeah, and it’s _amazing_ here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to him.”

Harry grinned. “Just make sure he doesn’t have any moving pictures out while any Muggles are around. Those are questions you just don’t want to have to answer.”

“I’ll be careful,” Colin agreed. “It’d be really good if I had one of you. Maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?”

 _“Signed photos?_ You’re giving out _signed photos_ , Potter?” Loud and scathing, Malfoy’s voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry focused and cast wandlessly and silently, using a jinx he had picked up from Snape’s old Potions textbook. Malfoy found himself unable to speak as his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

“Careful, Malfoy, your protector’s not working here anymore,” Harry warned. “And your attack dogs here should watch themselves as well.” Malfoy drew his wand and gurgled incoherently at him. “I realize you’re inbred, Malfoy, but you _can_ talk, can’t you? It’s the other two who are too stupid to speak?” Neville and Ron were chuckling. “Remember how things went for you the last time you tried to curse me. Now go away.” The bell rang, signaling the start of afternoon classes, and the Gryffindors left, Malfoy still trying to speak as they walked away.

“You don’t have Herbology right now, right?” Harry asked Colin.

“Charms,” the boy said.

“Good. That way you don’t have to backtrack past them. That’s Draco Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. They’re…how can I put this delicately…”

“Flaming arseholes,” Ron supplied helpfully.

“That’s it exactly,” Harry agreed as Hermione scolded him. “He’s a berk who thinks being a pureblood makes him better than everyone else. He’s dad’s a Dark wizard who bought his way out of trouble. I’d avoid him if possible.”

“I will. Thanks, Harry.” The boy scampered off, heading towards the Charms classroom as the others headed for Defense.

“You plan to stay awake for this class?” Hermione asked tartly as they approached the classroom. “You slept through half the Defense exam last year.”

“Because I had already finished it,” Harry pointed out. “And if you’ll remember, I got a perfect score.” Hermione grumbled. “Oh, come off it, Hermione, you’re better than me in Charms, Transfiguration, _and_ History of Magic. Neville’s better than either of us at Herbology, and Ron wrestles dragons. Defense is my subject. Let me have this!” Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes, but the boys were snickering. “Besides, I wouldn’t sleep through these classes, I _live_ with Remus.”

“You think there might be some level of favoritism there?” Ron asked.

“I doubt it, but even if there was, I’m an orphan,” Harry sniffed dramatically. “I deserve it.”

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Lupin said as they filed in. “I’m Professor Lupin. I’m here to teach you how to take care of yourselves. Now, since you’re second years, I’m not going to start throwing boggarts and hinkypunks at you just yet. But there are three simple things that you need to remember whenever you find yourself in a dangerous situation. First off: the best defense against any Dark Art is a good pair of running legs.” A few snorts went up. “I’m serious. Standing and fighting sounds heroic and noble, but it’s also a good way to get yourself hurt. Sure, your average witch or wizard can’t outrun a werewolf or a dementor, but I’m pretty sure most of you could out-sprint your average Dark wizard. All that ego weighs ‘em down.”

Some of the students snickered at Lupin’s attempt at levity. “I’m not saying you should be a coward, but you should know when you’re outmatched, which leads me to the second point: Know your limits. I’ve seen good witches and wizards get hurt or killed because they ran into something they thought they could handle and found out the hard way they couldn’t. A reasonable estimation of your own abilities can be very helpful. And third, never, ever assume that whatever you’ve encountered is the only one around. There’s nothing quite as embarrassing as knocking out a troll only to find his very irritated mate standing right behind you. Ask Professor Dumbledore how that one ended up for him.” The students laughed at that one.

He looked around the classroom, before reaching into his desk and pulling out a large, covered cage. “There are things that go bump in the night. I’m going to teach you how to bump back. Like I said, you’re a bit young for me to get into the _really_ interesting stuff, so we’re going to start small.” He pulled the cover off the cage, revealing it to be packed with Cornish pixies.

Harry nearly started hyperventilating. Hermione glanced over at him in concern as Lupin continued speaking over the jabbering of the pixies. “Your average Cornish pixie is generally harmless to your person, but they’re a right pain to deal with if they get into your house. They’re a bit like Peeves – annoying and prone to property damage. If I were to open this cage, it would be pandemonium. They’re right fast and stronger than they look, and they typically move in packs.” Lupin continued to talk about the nature and weaknesses of Cornish pixies, before taking questions until the bell rang. “For your homework, read the next chapter of your textbooks, and I want to hear some ideas on self-defense against a pack of pixies!”

—ML—

Harry cracked an eye open on Saturday morning as he was being shaken awake. “Whassamatter?”

Oliver Wood was beaming at him “Quidditch practice! Come on!”

Harry squinted at the window. There was a thin mist hanging across the pink-and-gold sky. Now that he was awake, he couldn’t understand how he could have slept through the racket the birds were making. “Oliver,” Harry croaked. “It’s the crack of dawn.”

“Exactly,” said Wood. He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm. “It’s part of our new training program. Come on, grab your broom, and let’s go,” said Wood heartily. “None of the other teams have started training yet; we’re going to be first off the mark this year —”

“I’m gonna count to three, and by the time I say one, you better be outta here,” Harry mumbled into his pillow.

“Come on,” Oliver groused. “I know you don’t need the practice personally, but the whole team needs to be there.”

Harry groaned. “Fine, but I’m playing this one under protest.”

“So long as you play,” Oliver said. “Good man. I talked to McGonagall, she’s given the go-ahead for us to have reserve tryouts next week.”

“Great,” Harry mumbled, digging out his Quidditch robes. “Then the next time I end up in the Hospital Wing we might not get nailed.”

“When were you ever in the Hospital Wing?” Wood asked.

Harry froze. “Just thinking out loud. I’ll meet you on the field.”

“Good man.”

Harry scribbled a note to Ron explaining where he’d gone and went down the spiral staircase to the common room, his Nimbus Two Thousand on his shoulder. He had just reached the portrait hole when there was a clatter behind him and Colin Creevey came dashing down the spiral staircase, his camera swinging madly around his neck and something clutched in his hand. “I heard someone saying your name on the stairs, Harry! Look what I’ve got here! I’ve had it developed, I wanted to show you —” Harry looked bemusedly at the photograph Colin was brandishing under his nose.

There was a photo of Harry in the Common Room, giving the camera a warm smile as he looped his arms around Ron and Hermione. Neville was sitting nearby, laughing at something Ginny had said. “This is great, Colin,” Harry said softly. “Do you have a copy of this I could have?”

Colin stared at him. “That one is for you,” he pointed out. “ _This_ one is for me.” He held up another photograph, this one of Harry with his arm around Colin, both beaming at the camera. “Will you sign it?” Colin asked eagerly.

“Sure, but I don’t have a quill or a pen.” Colin seized one that had been left on a nearby table, and Harry signed the photo. “Any way you can make copies of that photo you took of me and my friends?”

Colin paused. “I can try. I’ve never done that before.”

“I think you can pull it off,” Harry said. “Maybe a dozen copies? I’ll pay you for the materials.” He shoved the photo into his robes. “I gotta go. Quidditch practice.”

“Oh, wow! Wait for me! I’ve never watched a Quidditch game before!” Colin scrambled through the portrait hole after him.

“It’ll be really boring,” Harry said quickly, but Colin ignored him, his face shining with excitement.

“You were the youngest House player in a hundred years, weren’t you, Harry? Weren’t you?” said Colin, trotting alongside him. “You must be brilliant. I’ve never flown. Is it easy? Is that your own broom? Is that the best one there is?”

“It’s easy once you get the hang of it,” Harry explained. “It’s my broom, and when I got it, it was top of the line. I think there have been a few better models put out since, but considering this is just school-level Quidditch, it’s more than sufficient.” He paused. “Colin, have you eaten?”

“I…no, I haven’t,” the boy admitted.

“All right. If I know Oliver, he’s going to be talking tactics for a couple hours before we even get on our brooms, so why don’t you go grab a bite? Just head down to the pitch when you’re done.” Colin opened his mouth. “And if you don’t understand the game, we can talk about it later. Or ask Ron, he’s always happy to talk about Quidditch.”

The rest of the Gryffindor team were already in the changing room when Harry arrived. Wood was the only person who looked truly awake. Fred and George Weasley were sitting, puffy-eyed and touslehaired, next to fourth year Alicia Spinnet, who seemed to be nodding off against the wall behind her. Her fellow Chasers, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson, were yawning side by side opposite them.

“There you are, Harry, what kept you?” Wood said briskly.

“Colin Creevey,” Harry explained. “New first year Gryffindor. Fascinated by the game, had a load of questions. I managed to shake him off, but he’ll probably show up and try to watch us practice.”

Wood shrugged. “Fair enough. Now, I wanted a quick talk with you all before we actually get onto the field, because I spent the summer devising a whole new training program, which I really think will make all the difference…” Wood was holding up a large diagram of a Quidditch field, on which were drawn many lines, arrows, and crosses in different colored inks. He took out his wand, tapped the board, and the arrows began to wiggle over the diagram like caterpillars. As Wood launched into a speech about his new tactics, Fred Weasley’s head drooped right onto Alicia Spinnet’s shoulder and he began to snore.

The first board took nearly twenty minutes to explain, but there was another board under that, and a third under that one. Harry sank into a stupor as Wood droned on and on. “So,” said Wood, at long last, jerking Harry from a wistful fantasy about what he could be eating for breakfast at this very moment up at the castle. “Is that clear? Any questions?”

“I’ve got a question, Oliver,” said George, who had woken with a start. “Why couldn’t you have told us all this yesterday when we were awake?”

Wood stared at him. “Because I couldn’t _find_ you lot.”

“Because we were hiding from you,” Fred mumbled.

“We took the Cup last year, and now we’re going to hold on to it. So we train harder than ever before… Okay, let’s go and put our new theories into practice!” Wood shouted, seizing his broomstick and leading the way out of the locker rooms. Stiff-legged and still yawning, his team followed. They had been in the locker room so long that the sun was up completely now, although remnants of mist hung over the grass in the stadium. As Harry walked onto the field, he saw Ron and Hermione sitting in the stands.

“Aren’t you finished yet?” called Ron incredulously. Colin was sitting next to him.

“Haven’t even started,” said Harry, looking jealously at the toast and marmalade Ron and Hermione had brought out of the Great Hall. “Wood’s been teaching us new moves.” He mounted his broomstick and kicked at the ground, soaring up into the air. The cool morning air whipped his face, waking him far more effectively than Wood’s long talk. It felt wonderful to be back on the Quidditch field. He soared right around the stadium at full speed, racing Fred and George as he spied Colin asking Ron question after question.

“That Colin, the new kid?” Wood asked as he skimmed through the air towards him. “Didn’t realize he’d take pictures.”

“He loves that camera, but I don’t think he’s going to take pictures of us practicing,” Harry replied.

“So long as the Slytherins don’t find out about our new plays,” Oliver said.

“That’s going to be tricky, considering they’re on the field.” Harry pointed. Several people in green robes were walking onto the field, broomsticks in their hands.

“I don’t believe it!” Wood hissed in outrage. “I booked the field for today! We’ll see about this!” Wood shot toward the ground, landing rather harder than he meant to in his anger, staggering slightly as he dismounted. Harry, Fred, and George followed. “Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain. “This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!”

Marcus Flint was even larger than Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”

Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had come over, too. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors, leering to a man. “But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

“Ah,” said Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Slughorn. _‘I, Professor H. Slughorn, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker’._ ”

“Wait a tic,” Harry said. “Why bother booking the pitch if a professor can just give permission and toss the whole thing out the window anyway?” Nobody answered.

“You’ve got a new Seeker?” Wood asked, distracted. “Where?” And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

“Really? Malfoy?” Harry asked dubiously. “The boy who couldn’t even hold a broom right last year?”

“Shut it, Potter,” Malfoy snarled. “I’ve got just as much skill as you.”

Flint grinned. “And that’s not all. Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.” All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words _Nimbus Two Thousand and One_ gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun. “Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweep Fives” — he smiled nastily at Fred and George —“ sweeps the board with them.”

“Considering the Cleansweep Sevens just came out, they should be able to keep up just fine,” Harry said, taking no small amount of pleasure in wiping the smirk off Flint’s face. “But you’re right, the new Nimbus is faster, and a touch more maneuverable. I suppose now it’ll be an even field, better brooms compensating for a lack of skill.” The Slytherin Beaters growled.

“He’s got a point,” Wood said, giving Flint a shark’s grin. “After all, who took the Cup last year again?”

“Was us, I believe,” Fred added.

“Close last game of the season, against Ravenclaw, wasn’t it?” George asked.

“Didn’t Slytherin come in third?” Alicia chimed in.

Flint looked about ready to punch someone when he spotted movement. “Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on. “What’s happening?” Ron asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s _he_ doing here?” He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” said Malfoy, smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team. Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broomsticks in front of him.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in,” said Hermione sharply. “ _They_ got in on pure talent.” The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

There was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George jumping on him, and Alicia shrieked, “ _How dare you!_ ” Harry drew his wand, muttering a spell Flitwick had taught him only a few days ago. Everyone froze in place. “Everyone cool it! Malfoy, you’re out of line. We’ll see how long you’re flying for Slytherin using language like that.” Harry flicked his wand, unfreezing the Gryffindor Chasers and Hermione. “Girls, can you make sure the boys don’t do anything stupid?”

“What did he call me?” Hermione asked quietly.

“I’ll tell you later,” Harry said, unfreezing Oliver and Flint. “Flint, get your team out of here before your Seeker gets all of you in trouble.” He unfroze Fred and George, the Chasers dragging them away as Harry set the Slytherins loose one at a time. He waited until they had dragged Malfoy away, the blond spitting at them as Harry ended the spell, setting Ron loose.

“You should have let me curse him,” Ron said fiercely.

Harry shook his head. “Much as I would like to hex him into next week, he’d go crying to daddy and cause us all a whole lot of problems. As it is, we’d better go see McGonagall about this.”

“Harry,” Hermione said softly, her eyes wide, “what did he call me?”

“You wanna take this one, Ron?” Harry asked. “I promised Sirius I wouldn’t use language like that.”

Ron looked uncomfortable. “Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born. There are some wizards — like Malfoy’s family — who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood. I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all.”

“What’s goin’ on here?” Hagrid asked, having left his hut when he saw the commotion.

“Malfoy shot his mouth off again, I had to freeze everyone before a fight started,” Harry explained.

“Hagrid, he called her a ‘mudblood,’ I _should_ have cursed him,” Ron blurted out.

Hagrid looked outraged. “That little…where is he?”

“Easy, easy, we’re going to handle it,” Harry said soothingly.

Hagrid grunted. “I s’pose. But don’t you listen to a word that moron says, Hermione, y’hear? They haven’t invented a spell you can’ do.” Hermione went a brilliant shade of magenta. “You got jus’ as much right ter be here as he does.”

“It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,” Ron said. “Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.” 

Hermione looked to be near tears. “I…why does he hate me like that?”

“Because he’s an arse,” Harry spat. “Come here.” He hugged her tightly, Ron hugging from the other side a moment later.

Hagrid chuckled. “Well, you three want ter come in for a cuppa?”

Hermione nodded. “I think I could use one.”

A few minutes later, they were all ensconced in Hagrid’s cottage, and Hermione was sipping at a soothing cup of tea. “Oh, I forgot to bring this up, what with all that happened,” Harry said, fishing the picture Colin had given him out of his robes. “Colin gave me this.”

“He the little mousy one?” Hagrid asked. “Hey, that’s a fine picture!” Hermione smiled faintly as she saw herself grinning in the picture, Ron snickering as he looked over her shoulder.

“You want to talk about Muggleborns, this was his first try at developing a moving picture,” Harry said. “I’d like to see a pureblood pull _that_ off.”

—ML—

The trio was heading back towards the castle for lunch, intending to head back towards the Gryffindor Tower so Harry could stash his broomstick and change out of his Quidditch robes.

McGonagall and Slughorn were waiting for them in the Entrance Hall. “Mister Potter, what’s this I hear about you assaulting the Slytherin Quidditch team?”

Harry sighed. “If anything, I _prevented_ an assault. The Gryffindors were about to start our first Quidditch practice of the season. The Slytherins showed up, saying that Professor Slughorn here had given them permission to use the pitch to train their new Seeker. Oliver Wood had booked the pitch.”

“He had, now?” Slughorn said. “I was not aware. My apologies, Minerva, I seem to be out of touch with the current practices around here.”

“Not to worry,” McGonagall replied. “I’m just glad to have you teaching again. Continue, Mister Potter.”

“Well, Marcus Flint showed off the new brooms that Malfoy’s father donated to the team. At that point, Ron and Hermione here joined us on the field – they had been watching from the stands, you see – and Hermione remarked that everybody on the Gryffindor team got in on pure talent, rather than having to buy their way in.” Harry’s face twitched. “I’d rather not use the language Malfoy did.”

“He called her a mudblood, Professor,” Ron explained.

Slughorn’s mustache twitched as his lip curled. McGonagall’s mouth thinned. “I see,” she said coldly.

“Things were about to get physical, so I drew and froze everyone in place with a stasis charm,” Harry said.

“You can cast one?” Slughorn asked, impressed.

“Only under pressure,” Harry replied evasively. “I unfroze everyone a couple at a time, making sure Alicia, Angelina, and Katie were able to drag Fred and George away before they gave Malfoy a black eye. Flint and the other Slytherins left, and we took Hermione over to Hagrid’s cottage for a cup of tea. She was…rather upset. We were heading back to get something to eat.” He gave her a sly smile. “Then you asked me what happened, and I started telling you that-”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes, thank you, that will do.”

“Rather disconcerting,” Slughorn murmured. “I’ll take care of this, Minerva, unless you’d prefer to handle it.”

“They’re your students, Horace, I won’t interfere,” McGonagall replied. “Five points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter, for quick thinking and keeping the situation from escalating. Off to lunch.”

“That should put a curl in that ponce’s tail,” Harry mumbled as they climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower.

—ML—

Hermione sat up in bed on the nineteenth of September, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Crookshanks yawned and stretched at the foot of her bed, before stalking up the covers and rubbing up against her, purring. “Oh, yes, Crooks darling. It’s mummy’s birthday.”

Lavender poked her head through the curtains on her bed. “It is? Happy Birthday!”

Hermione blushed. “Thanks. I don’t usually do much for it.”

“Oh. Not big on celebrating?”

Hermione shrugged. “Other people’s, sure. My own…my parents usually took me out to dinner, but we didn’t usually make a big deal about it.” She stretched, scooting out of bed and starting her morning routine.

She started down the stairs to the common room, intending to get herself a nice plate of eggs and bacon for her birthday breakfast, only to squawk indignantly and nearly slip as she was barraged with cries of “Happy Birthday!” from what seemed like half the castle. As she pulled herself upright by the bannister, she spotted most of the Gryffindors and a handful of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs from her year beaming at her.

Within ten minutes, she had been wished well, given presents, and hugged to within an inch of her life, and Harry leaned against the wall of the Common Room, grinning widely as the girl tried to quell her blush.

“She’s loving it,” Ginny said from next to him.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “That was a good idea you had, Ron.”

The boy shrugged. “I just suggested we do something nice for her. You pulled this all together.”

“All right, let’s all get some breakfast!” Harry called as Hermione unwrapped the last of the presents she had been given. She beamed at Colin, who had given her a framed copy of the photo he had taken of them, before she pounced on Harry, hugging him tightly. “Happy Birthday, Hermione.”

“Thanks, Harry. All of you.”

“We haven’t given you our presents yet,” Harry pointed out, tugging a notebook out of his pocket. “I talked to Percy, to the professors, to Ollie and everyone else who would listen. You know we’re supposed to pick our electives at the end of this year.” Hermione nodded. “I got all their opinions on the subjects that are available, and hopefully this’ll help you with picking your courses.”

Harry had seen Hermione happy, depressed, and in a few memorable cases that typically involved someone getting bodily injured, furious. But to the best of his knowledge, he had never seen Hermione this touched before. She took the notebook, gently flipping through it. “Goodness, Harry, there must be fifty different people in here!”

Harry shrugged. “I had a weekend off.”

“Me next!” Ginny said. “I know how Crookshanks loves to play with his food, so I got him this.” She held up a mouse, and at Hermione’s scandalized look, held up her other hand. “It’s fake, so he can chew it and bat it around all he wants. It’s enchanted, so it’ll run away from him and make him chase it. Just pull the tail and hope nobody nearby is afraid of mice.” Ron was snickering at the mental image as Hermione tucked it into the pocket of her robes.

“I, er…got you this,” Ron mumbled, holding out a poorly wrapped package. “I tried to get Harry to help me wrap it, but he was too busy pointing and laughing.”

“I’d never seen someone wrap themselves up in paper before,” Harry admitted.

Hermione’s jaw dropped as she ripped the paper off. “This…where’d you find this?”

“Secondhand shop in Diagon Alley,” Ron said.

“You found a first edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ in a secondhand shop in Diagon Alley?” Hermione asked. “I have to start looking at those places more closely.”

—ML—

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Her Pepperup potion worked instantly, though it left the drinker smoking at the ears for several hours afterward. Harry himself had found himself sniffling and miserable for a few days before Ron dragged him off to the Hospital Wing, leaving him steaming through Charms class that afternoon.

Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. Wood kept them training, spurred on by the reports of the sheer speed of the Slytherin team’s new brooms. As he entered the castle, he thought back, and then took a moment to charm his shoes. He’d be uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t leave tracks.

As Harry squelched along a deserted corridor, he found Nearly Headless Nick staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, “… don’t fulfill their requirements… half an inch, if that…”

“Hello, Nick,” Harry said. “Something on your mind?”

“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, “a matter of no importance… It’s not as though I really wanted to join… Thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill requirements.’ But you would think, wouldn’t you, that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?”

“I think taking forty-five strokes from a blunt axe would qualify you to do just about whatever you want,” Harry said. “And on that note, _ow_.”

Nick shrugged. “The first twenty hurt. After that, it…” he paused at the queasy look on Harry’s face. “I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However—” Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously: _“‘We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’”_

Harry pressed a palm to his mouth and made a rude noise. “Sod ‘em, Nick. You don’t need ‘em.”

“Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry! Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir Properly Decapitated-Podmore.”

“Half an inch, eh?” Harry asked. “I…hm. I suppose the Bloody Baron wouldn’t help you? He has a sword, after all.”

“I’ve asked,” Nick grumbled. “He refuses to use his weapon in death. Something about how he died. He doesn’t like to speak of it.”

Harry nodded, knowing the story. “Well, it’s…half an inch, I…if you really wanted to…” Nick stared at him blankly. “You couldn’t just…pull hard enough?”

“I’ve tried. Blasted thing won’t come loose.”

Harry grunted. “Sir Nicholas, on the one hand, if you really want to join the Headless Hunt, you may have to put some more effort into it. On the other hand…” he shrugged. “If your head was completely loose, wouldn’t Peeves be trying to steal it regularly?”

Nick paled slightly. For a ghost, it was impressive. “That’s…a rather good point, Harry. I’ll have to think about it.”

“What brought this up, anyway?” Harry asked.

“Filth!” Filch shouted from behind them. Harry jumped a foot in the air, and Nick’s head twisted violently as he spun around, the narrow strip of flesh twisting and stretching. Filch’s eyes were practically popping out of his head as he pointed at Harry. “Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you! Follow me, Potter!”

“I’m not making any mess,” Harry remarked. “I may be muddy and wet, but if you look around I’ve left no mess.” The man growled as he searched the floors nearby for any sign of dirt, before muttering under his breath as he stalked away. “That man needs a vacation.”

“He is a bit of an odd duck, at that,” Nick remarked, trying to set his head straight.

“Try pulling again,” Harry suggested. “With the way it’s twisted around and stretched, you might get more leverage on it.”

“Well, all right,” the ghost acceded. “You best look away, Harry, this may be unpleasant.” Harry obligingly turned around, and he heard Nick give a mighty grunt. “I don’t believe it!” Harry turned around to see Nick bouncing his severed head between his hands. “I’ll have to thank Filch. I’ll finally get to shut up Sir Patrick!”

“You going to be seeing him soon?” Harry asked.

“Halloween,” Nicholas replied. “This year will be my five hundredth deathday.”

“Oh.” Harry said. “Congratulations! You don’t look a day older.”

Nick pursed his laps. “Ha, ha, ha. I’m holding a party down in one of the roomier dungeons. Friends will be coming from all over the country. It would be such an honor if you would attend. Mr. Weasley, Mister Longbottom, and Miss Granger would be most welcome, too, of course — but I daresay you’d rather go to the school feast?” He watched Harry on tenterhooks.

“Of course I’ll come,” Harry said immediately. “I’ll see if I can talk the others into coming, and we’ll grab something to eat beforehand in the kitchens.”

“My dear boy! Harry Potter, at my deathday party! And —” he hesitated, looking excited “— do you think you could possibly mention to Sir Patrick how very frightening and impressive you find me?”

“Impressive, yes. Frightening?” Harry shrugged. “You’re a man of breeding and culture, Sir Nicholas. They rarely go with scary, but…” The boy winked. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Headless Nick beamed at him.

“A deathday party?” Hermione said keenly when Harry had changed at last and joined the others in the common room. Rain was still lashing the windows, which were now inky black, but inside all looked bright and cheerful. The firelight glowed over the countless squashy armchairs where people sat reading, talking, doing homework or, in the case of Fred and George Weasley, trying to find out what would happen if you fed a Filibuster firework to a salamander. Fred had “rescued” the brilliant orange, fire-dwelling lizard from a Care of Magical Creatures class and it was now smoldering gently on a table surrounded by a knot of curious people. “I bet there aren’t many living people who can say they’ve been to one of those — it’ll be fascinating!”

“Why would anyone want to celebrate the day they died?” said Ron, who was halfway through his Potions homework and grumpy. “Sounds dead depressing to me…”

“Pun intended?” Harry asked. The boy thought about what he had said and grimaced. “I told Sir Nicholas I would come. If you don’t want to, that’s all right.”

“I’ll go,” Hermione said immediately.

“Count me in,” Neville added, closing his Herbology textbook.

Ron grumbled. “All right, you got me, I’ll come with you. Feast would be boring without you lot anyway.”

The salamander suddenly whizzed into the air, emitting loud sparks and bangs as it whirled wildly round the room. “Ever wonder why wizards are so cruel to animals?” Harry asked calmly as the salamander zipped by, burping tangerine stars.

—ML—

“How’d you find out where the kitchens are?” Ron asked. “I’ve never been able to get Fred and George to tell me.”

“I asked Professor Lupin,” Harry lied. The group grabbed a quick bite to eat, before heading deeper into the dungeons, following the passageway lined with jet-black candles towards the party. As they approached, he heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

“Is that supposed to be _music_?” Ron whispered. They turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

“My dear friends,” he said mournfully. “Welcome, welcome… so pleased you could come…” He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Nick,” Neville replied. “A man only has one five-hundredth death day!”

“Congratulations on your beheading,” Hermione said.

“Shh!” Nick hissed. “I’m planning to surprise them with it. Go on in.” It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Their breath rose in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

“Shall we have a look around?” Harry suggested, drawing his wand and casting a warming charm around himself and his friends.

“Careful not to walk through anyone,” said Ron nervously, and they set off around the edge of the dance floor. They passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, a cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Harry wasn’t surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, a gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts.

“Oh, no,” said Hermione, stopping abruptly. “Turn back, turn back, I don’t want to talk to Moaning Myrtle —”

“Oh, hello Myrtle,” Harry said.

“Who are you?” the ghost asked suspiciously as Hermione shot him a glare.

“Harry Potter. I’m sorry, I’ve never heard your full name.”

Myrtle paused. “Myrtle Elizabeth Warren,” she said finally. “Ravenclaw.”

Harry grinned. “I figured as much, you seem a wily type.” He looked her up and down as she blushed. “Did you die here at Hogwarts? You’re the only ghost I’ve ever seen wearing the robes.”

“I did,” she admitted. “I was only fourteen, you know.”

“That’s awful,” Hermione said. “If you don’t mind my asking, how…”

“How did I die?” Myrtle asked. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have asked,” Harry pointed out. “Considering we’re Hogwarts students now, if you died somehow…we’d like to know.”

Myrtle shrugged indifferently, although she looked as though she had never been asked such a flattering question. “Ooooh, it was dreadful,” she said with relish. “It happened in the bathroom I normally haunt. I remember it so well. I’d hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny. A different language, I think it must have been. Anyway, what really got me was that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door, to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then —” Myrtle swelled importantly, her face shining. “I _died_.”

“How?” said Harry.

“No idea,” said Myrtle in hushed tones. “I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away…” She looked dreamily at Harry. “And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she’d ever laughed at my glasses.”

“You died from something looking at you?” Hermione asked. “That’s…odd.”

“Fascinating,” Harry said. “What did you do to Olive Hornby?”

“Ask me later,” Myrtle giggled, swooping away.

“Look, food!” said Ron. On the other side of the dungeon was a long table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words,

SIR NICHOLAS DE MIMSY-PORPINGTON

DIED 31ST OCTOBER, 1492

“Can we move? I feel sick,” said Ron.

They had barely turned around, however, when a little man swooped suddenly from under the table and came to a halt in midair before them. “Hello, Peeves,” said Harry cautiously.

“Nibbles?” he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

“No thanks,” said Hermione. “We’ve eaten.”

“Your loss!” the poltergeist cackled, flinging a handful of peanuts through several other ghosts.

Nearly Headless Nick now drifted toward them through the crowd. “Enjoying yourselves?”

“Oh, yes,” they lied.

“Not a bad turnout,” said Nearly Headless Nick proudly. “The Wailing Widow came all the way up from Kent… It’s nearly time for my speech, I’d better go and warn the orchestra…”

The orchestra, however, stopped playing at that very moment. They, and everyone else in the dungeon, fell silent, looking around in excitement, as a hunting horn sounded.

“Oh, here we go,” said Nearly Headless Nick eagerly. Through the dungeon wall burst a dozen ghost horses, each ridden by a headless horseman. The assembly clapped wildly; Harry started to clap, too, but stopped quickly at the sight of Nick’s face. The horses galloped into the middle of the dance floor and halted, rearing and plunging. At the front of the pack was a large ghost who held his bearded head under his arm, from which position he was blowing the horn. The ghost leapt down, lifted his head high in the air so he could see over the crowd (everyone laughed), and strode over to Nearly Headless Nick, squashing his head back onto his neck.

“Nick!” he roared. “How are you? Head still hanging in there?”

“Not quite,” Nicholas said dramatically, swiping his head off his shoulders and tucking it under his arm. “Welcome, Patrick.”

“Well then! About time, I say,” Sir Patrick said, looking less than enthused before he spotted the only living people around. “Live ’uns!” He gave a huge, fake jump of astonishment, so that his head fell off again (the crowd howled with laughter).

“Very amusing,” said Nearly Headless Nick darkly.

“I can see why you wouldn’t let him join the Hunt,” Harry remarked. “A man of culture and elegance like him? Wouldn’t fit in at all with you louts.”

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” Nick called, striding toward the podium and climbing into an icy blue spotlight. “My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow…” But nobody heard much more. Sir Patrick and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd was turning to watch. Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers.

“Rather inconsiderate,” Harry remarked as Sir Patrick’s head blew a raspberry at Nick.

“Sir Nicholas,” Harry said as the man descended from the podium, looking at Sir Patrick murderously. “We’ve enjoyed coming here, but we really must be going.”

“Of course,” Nicholas replied, smiling despite his clear annoyance at the Hunt’s antics. “See you around, Harry.”

“Pudding might not be finished yet,” said Ron hopefully, leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

And then Harry heard it.

“… _rip_ … _tear_ … _kill_ …”

“Oh, fuck,” Harry rasped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. I wish I did, but I’m just playing in JK Rowling’s sandbox. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit’s being made.

–ML–

“Oh, fuck,” Harry rasped.

“What is it?” Ron asked, as Hermione gaped at him.

“Harry, what _language_ ,” she scolded.

“Hush,” Harry hissed, listening hard.

“… _soo hungry_ … _for so long_ …”

“Come on. It’s not safe here,” Harry urged.

“… _kill_ … _time to kill_ …”

“Harry, what’s going on?” Neville asked.

“I’ll explain later. Right now, just follow me and be ready to close your eyes and run away,” Harry ordered. The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving away – moving upward.

Towards the Great Hall and a room full of students. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase and hurtled around the whole of the second floor, Ron, Hermione, and Neville panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Harry, _what_ was that all about?” said Ron, wiping sweat off his face. “I couldn’t hear anything…”

But Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor.

“ _Look!_ ”

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED._

_ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE_

“God _damnit_ ,” Harry breathed, reaching for his bag and pulling out his Invisibility Cloak. “We have to get out of here.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked.

“Just come on!” He threw it over the four of them, hustling them down the passageway as the feast ended. He whipped the Cloak off once they were a few passages away, and hustled them up to the Gryffindor common room. He pulled the Marauder’s Map out of his pocket, double-checking it to make sure the room was empty. “Okay, listen close, because we don’t have much time. I’m a Parselmouth.” All three of his friends’ mouths opened, and he held up a hand. “I said listen. I’m not descended from Slytherin, but Voldemort is a Parselmouth, and when he tried to kill me I wound up with a few of his abilities. That thing that killed Myrtle? It’s a basilisk.” Hermione gasped. “It’s in the Chamber of Secrets. There’s only one creature that can kill with a look. I can hear it, because it’s a snake. But believe me, we did _not_ want to be around when people found that message.” Harry looked all of his friends in the eyes. “Do you trust me?”

All three answered immediately, practically in unison. “Of course.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. “Then start carrying mirrors around. If you see it in a reflection, rather than straight on, it won’t kill you, just Petrify you.”

“How do you know all this?” Hermione asked.

“Books and cleverness,” he said. “I spoke to a snake at a zoo, once, but it wasn’t until I looked it up that I realized that wasn’t a common ability. I talked to Dumbledore about it, and when he mentioned Voldemort could talk to snakes, I went and read about all the magical kinds of snakes. There’s only one creature out there that we know of that can kill with just a look.”

“So, what, the Chamber of Secrets exists?” Neville said. “And it’s been opened?”

“Opened again,” Harry replied. “That basilisk, it’s killed before.”

“Myrtle,” Ron realized. He paused, his mouth opening slightly. “The Chamber of Secrets is in a girl’s loo?”

“The entrance, at least, but that’s not the point,” Harry said.

Neville looked distinctly uncomfortable. “The point is there’s an incredibly dangerous magical snake that can kill you with a look running around!”

“Well, it’s not exactly _running_ , it doesn’t have legs,” Harry mused. “God, that would be terrifying. A snake with legs?”

“Harry?” He looked over at Hermione. “Lizard.”

“Oh.” He glanced at the map again. “Everyone’s coming back up. Let’s keep this quiet. We don’t need to start a panic just yet.” When the Gryffindors arrived, all anybody was talking about was the message on the wall. Harry listened closely, but as far as anyone knew, nobody had been attacked. Harry waited until the crowd had more or less dispersed before donning his Invisibility Cloak again and leaving as unobtrusively as possible through the portrait hole, a hand mirror in his pocket. He carefully checked each corner as he headed for Dumbledore’s office, muttering the password to the gargoyle and hurrying up the stairs.

Dumbledore wasn’t inside, and Harry sat down, his mind racing. How had the Chamber been opened? To the best of his knowledge, he and Voldemort were the only two Parselmouths in all of Britain.

Eventually, Harry heard people approaching, and stood up, giving Fawkes a nod. The phoenix trilled as Dumbledore entered, followed by McGonagall and Flitwick. “Ah, Harry,” Dumbledore said as he spotted the young wizard waiting for him. “I sense you are here for the same reason we are.”

Harry nodded. “The Chamber can only be opened by a Parselmouth. Barring the Gaunt family having some foreign-based offshoot nobody had ever heard of, either Voldemort’s in the school, or the Ministry let the diary get out somehow.”

“I’m afraid I must agree,” Dumbledore sighed. “How did you find out?”

“We left a few moments before everyone else got there,” Harry said. “We were at Sir Nicholas’ deathday party, and when we were heading back up, I heard that bloody snake hissing in the pipes.” He shifted uncomfortably. “In hindsight, running after it with Hermione, Ron, and Neville with me was a bit reckless, but I felt that I had to at least find out what was going on. I saw the message and hustled them out of there as quickly as I could.” Harry paused. “Sir, I told them what it is and where it is.”

“Not entirely wise, but they do need to know.” Dumbledore stroked his beard. “Who was attacked before?”

“Filch’s cat, on Halloween,” Harry said. “Saw the basilisk’s reflection in the water. Colin Creevey, the first-year, got Petrified looking through his camera at it.” He paused. “I was in the Hospital Wing with a broken arm, and he was trying to sneak up to bring me some grapes. Anyway, later on Justin Finch-Fletchley got Petrified, seeing it through Nearly-Headless Nick – er, Headless Nick.”

“Ah, yes, I heard,” Dumbledore said. “I was glad to hear he finally resolved that issue.”

“Anyway, Nick took the full blast, but couldn’t die again. Later in the year, Hermione and Penelope Clearwater got Petrified looking around a corner with a mirror.” He pulled his own out of his pocket. “Soon as I heard, I grabbed the mirror and headed here.”

“I see.” Dumbledore paused. “Harry, Remus was attacked.” Harry’s eyes widened as his stomach lurched. “He is alive, but Petrified. He was on patrol in the halls. We found him on the fifth floor, just outside an open bathroom stall.”

“He must have seen it in the mirror,” Harry concluded. “He could have been killed.” His jaw hardened. “Something’s different. All of the attacked people were Muggle-born before. Ginny’s not possessed this time, she doesn’t have the diary.”

Flitwick piped up. “I think we should lock down that bathroom, then. Post a guard, make sure nobody goes in there.”

“Good idea,” Dumbledore agreed.

“I’m going to send for some mature Mandrake leaves,” Harry added. “I’d have gotten some ahead of time but I didn’t expect this. We’ll need Restorative Draughts. Slughorn can do it.” He glared at Dumbledore. “And I don’t want Snape anywhere near it.”

“Severus has-”

“He may have your confidence, but he doesn’t have mine,” Harry snapped. “Remus is family to me. Snape tried to have Remus killed and got him fired when he couldn’t do that. Professor Slughorn mixes the potion. Period, stop.”

“Let’s focus on the issue at hand,” McGonagall intervened. “Who can we rule out?”

“Everyone who was at the feast,” Harry said. “Also my little group, since they were with me the whole time. And I would guess that Remus is not a suspect.”

McGonagall nodded. “That does narrow the pool down some. Albus, is there any reason we can’t simply call for a disposal team from the Ministry?”

“Because we only have one Parselmouth on hand, and I’d really rather not reveal that talent,” Harry said flatly. “Besides, the last thing any of us want is the Ministry interfering at Hogwarts, believe me.”

–ML–

For a few days, the school could talk of little else but the attack on Professor Lupin. The man had been restored within a day, and Harry had quietly warned Slughorn that he might want to keep more of the Draught around just in case.

Rumors had cropped up about Malfoy shooting his mouth off at the sight of the message. From what Harry managed to piece together, the boy had been serving a week’s worth of detentions with Professor Slughorn for his foul language and lying about Harry assaulting the Slytherin Quidditch team. Slughorn had allowed him to go in time to attend the feast, and Malfoy had reportedly been ecstatic about the message on the wall.

Harry studiously ignored Professor Binns’ latest verbal sedative in History of Magic as he checked the Marauder’s Map again, trying to make sure nobody was out of place. Putting it away, he pulled out a spiral notebook, glancing over some advanced Transfiguration notes McGonagall had given him to study.

He looked up when Hermione put up her hand. Professor Binns, glancing up in the middle of a deathly dull lecture on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, looked amazed.

“Miss – er –?”

“Granger, Professor. I was wondering if you could tell us anything about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Hermione in a clear voice.

Harry rolled his eyes. Sometimes he regretted not changing things more.

Professor Binns blinked. “My subject is History of Magic,” he said in his dry, wheezy voice. “I deal with _facts_ , Miss Granger, not myths and legends.” He cleared his throat with a small noise like chalk slipping and continued, “In September of that year, a subcommittee of Sardinian sorcerers –” He stuttered to a halt. Hermione’s hand was waving in the air again.

“Miss Grant?”

“Please, sir, don’t legends always have a basis in fact?”

Harry tuned out again as Binns began speaking.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly as they fought their way through the teeming corridors at the end of the lesson to drop off their bags before dinner. “If you really want to know the story, I can tell you. But not here.”

“Slytherin’s heir, at the school,” Ron was saying as they sat down for dinner. “I wonder who it could be?”

“Who’d want to frighten all the Squibs and Muggleborns out of Hogwarts?” Neville asked.

“Let’s think,” said Ron in mock puzzlement. “Who do we know who thinks Muggleborns are scum?” He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

“If you’re talking about Malfoy–”

“Of course I am!” Ron said. “You heard about what he said. Come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him–”

“Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?” Hermione considered it. “Well, I suppose it’s possible…”

“But how do we prove it?” Ron said darkly.

“There might be a way,” said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. “Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect –”

“Makes it sound like fun,” Harry said.

“All right,” said Hermione coldly. “What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.”

“But that’s impossible,” Ron said.

“No, it’s not,” said Hermione. “All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.”

“No, we don’t,” Harry replied. “Malfoy’s not the Heir of Slytherin.”

“How do you know?” Ron challenged.

Harry stared at him. “If Malfoy had access to a basilisk, do you really think he would just attack one person? Or would he ride it into the Great Hall during dinner and show it off to everyone, regardless of how many people he killed?” He forked up a piece of potato irritably.

Hermione visibly deflated. “That actually makes sense.”

“I do that from time to time,” Harry snarked. “Besides, Malfoy had detention during the attack.”

“But Slughorn let him go to the feast,” Ron pointed out. “He could have set it loose then.”

Harry shook his head. “Trust me, it’s not him.” He spotted Seamus staring at him curiously and hurriedly changed the subject.

–ML–

Harry found the rest of the Gryffindor team huddled up at the empty table in the Great Hall, all looking uptight and not speaking much. “Oh, come on,” he sighed. “Look, any of you could outfly the Slytherins, no matter what brooms they’re on. Sure, they’re faster, but our brooms are more maneuverable, and we’re better players than they are. We got this.”

Nobody seemed to believe him. As eleven o’clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium. It was a muggy sort of day with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to wish Harry good luck as he entered the locker rooms, before joining Neville, Ginny, and Luna in the stands. The team pulled on their scarlet Gryffindor robes, then sat down to listen to Wood’s usual pre-match pep talk.

“Slytherin has better brooms than us,” he began. “No point denying it. But we’ve got better people on our brooms. We’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers, and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team.”

“How come none of you believed me when I said it?” Harry asked indignantly.

“Because you’re twelve, Harry,” Fred said bluntly.

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry. “It’ll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to.”

“But no pressure, Harry,” Fred said, winking at him.

Harry scoffed. “Please. Malfoy barely knows which end of a broomstick is up. I could out-fly him on a Shooting Star.” He held his hand out to Wood. “Come on.” Wood took it, and Fred and George slapped their hands down on top of it, the Chasers following their example.

“One-two-three-GRYFFINDOR!” Wood roared. The others followed suit, and Wood led them onto the pitch, their blood pumping. As they walked out, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three…two…one…” As the whistle blew, Harry kicked off, the roar of the crowd speeding the fourteen players upward.

“All right there, Scarhead?” yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom. Harry ignored him, keeping his head on a swivel. The last time he had done this, he had barely managed to catch the Snitch before Dobby’s berserk Bludger had broken his arm and Lockhart’s idiotic attempt at first aid had put him in the Hospital Wing overnight. As he lazily circled the pitch, he spotted Fred winging one of the Slytherin Chasers with a well-aimed Bludger. The other zipped by his head, George streaking past him and giving the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey.

Harry glanced around, trying to spot the Snitch, only to hear thunder rolling, moments before it started to rain. With a groan, he adjusted his glasses, muttering ‘ _Impervius_ ’ to keep his vision clear. Spotting the Quaffle being juggled back and forth by the Slytherin Chasers almost tauntingly, Harry made sure Malfoy was watching him before going into a sudden dive, blazing past one of them fast enough to distract him. Malfoy was in hot pursuit, assuming Harry had seen the Snitch, and Angelina swept past, grabbing the Quaffle out of Flint’s hand. She dunked it past the Slytherin Keeper easily, and Harry heard Lee Jordan grumble out a “Slytherin lead, fifty points to ten.’ Growling, Harry reefed his broom around, spotting a glint of gold at the other end of the pitch and taking off.

Malfoy got there first, showboating with his broom’s superior speed. The boy couldn’t spot the Snitch, however, and he glared spitefully at Harry, who had already started another loop of the pitch, casually buzzing Adrien Pucey as he zipped across the Chaser’s path. The Slytherin’s brooms were letting them outpace the Gryffindors, but they were wasting time taunting them rather than simply scoring repeatedly. For every goal Wood let through, he was blocking three more.

The rain was falling more heavily as Harry pulled into a vertical loop, cannonballing around Katie Bell in one of Wood’s new plays. The play called for Fred or George to be in his place, but he had caught a glimpse of the Snitch a moment earlier and improvised. The maneuver managed to force a Slytherin Beater away from his shot at a Bludger, but the Snitch was gone by the time Harry pulled around. The other Slytherin Beater scored a solid strike to the other Bludger, and Alicia rolled, letting it pass her by harmlessly.

Harry wasn’t so lucky. The Bludger caught him full in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Through the armor, he felt a series of pops in his chest, and Harry gasped for air, his entire midsection screaming.

“You all right, Harry?” Fred shouted, smashing the Bludger back towards Flint.

“I’ll live,” Harry gasped, clinging to his broom and coughing. Ignoring the taste of copper in his mouth, Harry twirled his broom around, still trying to find the Snitch.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?” Malfoy hollered. Harry glared back at Malfoy, and spotted the Snitch almost lazily passing behind the boy. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his chest, Harry pulled his broom around, diving towards Malfoy. Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him. “What the –” he gasped, careening out of Harry’s way.

“You lose!” Harry hissed as he passed by, his hand closing around the Snitch. There was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out. Harry touched down, took two steps, and fell to his knees. He managed to fall backwards, fully aware that face-planting into the mud would be a bad idea with whatever had happened to his ribs. He heard impacts all around him as the other players touched down, Flint bellowing at Malfoy and Fred and George on either side of him.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I should have caught that one,” Fred said. “You hurt bad?”

“I think I’ve got twice as many ribs as I had before,” Harry gasped. “Someone want to help me get to the Hospital Wing?”

–ML–

“I swear, I see more Quidditch-related injuries than anything else these days,” Madam Pomfrey said, examining Harry’s ribs. The boy was stripped to the waist, still drenched from the rain and mud. Hermione, Ron, and Neville were standing nearby, damp and clearly worried.

“Will I ever play the violin again?” Harry asked.

“Depends. Could you before?”

“Badly,” Harry admitted. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my favorite Hogwarts staff member?”

“Don’t start with me,” she warned.

“Love you too, Poppy,” He said with a cheeky grin.

The healer rolled her eyes, before nodding to herself. “That Bludger managed to crack several of your ribs and fractured your sternum. You were lucky.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Harry said, hissing as she began healing his ribs. “I was wearing armor. Bloody thing could have collapsed my ribcage.”

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry. “Unbelievable flying, Harry,” said George. “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch right next to him and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.”

Harry grinned, before yelping as Pomfrey poked him in the chest. “That’s still tender!”

“It will be, for a day or so,” she replied. “But you’re all fixed up.” Harry prodded gingerly at the bruises on his chest. “I’ll get you something for the bruising. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Quick, everyone out the door,” Harry stage-whispered.

“I’ll know if you get off that bed,” she warned. Harry snickered, and a few moments later she returned with one of her particularly vile concoctions. He dutifully gulped it down, before grimacing as the pain began to recede from his body. “Anything else I should know about?”

“Yeah, my back hurts,” Harry said. “I had to carry the whole team out there.”

“Oi!” Katie flicked him in the ear. “Be nice!”

Harry grinned up at her. “Aw, Katie, I didn’t know you cared.” The girl blushed slightly. “Seriously, though, we may have to upgrade our brooms. The edge the Slytherins have now means I’m not just ending a game by catching the Snitch, I’m stopping the bleeding.”

Wood nodded somberly. “I’ll see what we can do.”

Harry stood up, wincing as his chest protested, and pulled on his damp shirt. “Let’s get out of here. Madam Pomfrey, a pleasure. Next time I’ll bring biscuits.”

“Get out,” she said, not bothering to hide her smile. “I don’t want to see you back here again!”

The Gryffindors were cheering as the Quidditch team entered the Common Room, and Harry soaked it in, deciding to relish in the moment. He spotted Colin, waving him over. “Let’s get a picture with the team! Come on, Gryffindors!” The team scooted together, their robes still splattered with mud, and everyone smiled as Colin snapped a photo. “Make a bunch of copies,” Harry called. “You’ll see that marked as Quidditch Champions this year!”

A few minutes later, Harry managed to escape up to his dormitory to change his clothes. He had just tugged a pair of dry jeans on when there was a knock at the door, and he pulled it open to find Hermione on the other side.

“You all right?” he asked.

“I should be asking you that,” she mumbled, following him into the room. “You took a Bludger to the chest!”

“Good for the heart,” He quipped.

“Harry, don’t joke about that,” she snapped. “I was…really worried.”

“So was I,” Harry admitted, pulling a shirt on. “But if you can joke about a situation, it can’t be too bad, right?” She didn’t seem convinced. “Don’t worry about it, Hermione. We’ve got an amazing Healer on staff, and that Quidditch armor works. I’ll try not to catch any more cannonballs with my chest. Okay?” She hugged him tightly, and he groaned. “Ribs! Still tender!”

She gave him a squeeze for emphasis. “Be safe, you jerk.”

“You got it.” He planted a kiss on her cheek almost absently, donning a pullover as he headed for the door. He paused a moment when he realized what he’d done, before raking his hands through his hair and heading back down to the party.

–ML–

“Harry Potter was wrong,” Harry heard the next morning as he awoke, nearly punting Dobby across the room by reflex. “The Chamber of Secrets has been reopened after all!”

“I found that out myself,” Harry admitted, the elf hopping off of his chest and standing on the bed next to him. “The diary was handed over to the Ministry. It must have been stolen and brought to Hogwarts somehow.” He gave Dobby a wry smile. “We’re working on it, though. I know the dangers, and I know how to deal with them. Dobby, I _have_ to stay here, or people will die.”

“Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen – go home, Harry Potter, go home. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, ‘tis too dangerous –”

“Dobby, I’m not going to be in danger,” Harry insisted. “We’re taking steps to deal with this. Do you know who is opening the Chamber?”

“Dobby doesn’t know, he doesn’t,” the elf said. “All Dobby knows is that Harry Potter _must go home_ , where it’s safe.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Harry said fiercely. “I’ve…oh, bollocks to it,” he grabbed the elf by the front of his pillowcase, looking into his eyes and breaking the Memory Charm. The elf staggered for a moment. “You remember now?”

“Dobby…Dobby remembers.”

“Then you know I can deal with this. There’s another party in play, but we’re hunting them, not the other way around.” Harry gritted his teeth. “I can’t let anyone get hurt. I care about these people.”

“Harry Potter risks his own life for his friends!”

“Dobby, I’m not risking my life,” Harry said again. “Now listen. Dumbledore and half the staff are looking for whoever’s setting that blasted snake loose on the students. I’m protecting the school. I know how to beat it. So please, _trust me_.” Harry stared into Dobby’s bulbous green eyes for a long moment, before the elf nodded.

“Dobby trusts you.”

“Good. Because I’m going to have to Memory Charm you again. But I’ll leave you the knowledge that I’m not in danger.” He heard grumbling from one of his roommates and quickly mind-wiped the elf, Dobby disappearing a moment later.

Harry carefully checked around, making sure that there had been no further attacks. November turned into December, and all of them resolved to stay at the school, Hermione’s parents taking a second honeymoon – at her urging – in Paris. Ron reported his parents were visiting Bill in Egypt this year, and Neville paused a moment before saying he would only be leaving the castle at one point during the winter.

A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the notice board, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus, Dean, and Neville beckoned them over, looking excited.

“They’re starting a Dueling Club!” said Seamus. “First meeting tonight! I wouldn’t mind dueling lessons; they might come in handy one of these days…”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” Ron asked, but he, too, read the sign with interest. “Could be useful,” he said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. “Shall we go?”

Harry paused, wondering who would be teaching it as both professors who had been involved before were not employed at the castle. “Sure, why not.”

At eight o’clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall. The long dining tables had vanished and a stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” Hermione said as they edged into the chattering crowd. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young – maybe it’ll be him.”

“Dueling takes two,” Harry replied. “I’d reckon it’s Flitwick and maybe Lupin.”

To Harry’s surprise, Flitwick and Dumbledore strode onto the stage, Flitwick wearing a black dueling cloak and Dumbledore serene in his usual robes. “Welcome, everyone, welcome,” Flitwick squeaked. “Can you all hear me? I won’t ask if you can all see me!” Scattered laughter went up. “Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves. Professor Lupin will be teaching alongside me in the future, but at the moment, he’s indisposed, so Professor Dumbledore has kindly assented to fill in for him.”

“I will do my best, Professor,” Dumbledore said with a wink.

“And I want you all as witnesses, just in case he turns me into a frog!” Flitwick called. More laughter echoed off the walls. “Now, if you would be so kind?” The two professors turned to face each other and bowed respectfully, before raising their wands. “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to injure, of course. One – two – three!”

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Dumbledore called, Flitwick’s wand zipping out of his hand. Dumbledore caught it easily and passed it back to the Charms Professor.

“Excellent, Headmaster, excellent,” Flitwick was saying. “That was a Disarming Charm, perfectly done. Now, if you will observe our next demonstration?” The two resumed their positions. “One – two – three!”

“ _Stupefy_!” Dumbledore cast.

“ _Protego!_ ” Dumbledore’s Stunner ricocheted off Flitwick’s shield and dissipated as it impacted the side of the stage. “As you can see, we’ve put wards up so we don’t wind up hitting people accidentally,” Flitwick explained. “Professor Dumbledore’s Stunning Spell was successfully blocked by my Shield Charm. A sufficiently strong spell can break through a shield, but it will protect you from many hexes. Now, I would like to pair you off, see how you handle this.”

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Neville found himself teamed up with Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Hermione and Ron were paired up a moment later.

“Trouble finding a partner, Potter?” Flitwick asked. Malfoy appeared as if he had been waiting for the moment. “Ah, Mister Malfoy. Partner up with Mister Potter here.” The blond strutted to his position, smirking at Harry as Flitwick returned to the stage. “Face your partners!” called Flitwick, back on the platform. “And bow!”

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

“Wands at the ready!” Flitwick instructed. “When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don’t want any accidents – one…two…three –”

Malfoy had started casting on two, and Harry took the hit, barely staggering before he pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” He plucked Malfoy’s wand out of the air easily as Ron rolled by, knocked off his feet by Hermione’s Disarming Charm. Neville was returning Justin’s wand as Flitwick glared at Malfoy. “I said disarm only, and on _three_. I’m thinking that perhaps you don’t want to be a part of this club, Mister Malfoy. Perhaps another demonstration is in order. Both of you, step up here.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, before stepping up onto the stage.

“Scared?” Malfoy asked.

“You wish,” Harry scoffed.

“Now, on my count of three, I want you two to attempt to Disarm each other,” Flitwick said. “ _Just_ Disarm. One – two –”

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, “ _Serpensortia_!” The end of his wand exploded, a long, black snake hitting the floor heavily. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor as the snake wound its way across the stage towards Harry.

Harry sighed. “ _Diffindo_.” The Severing Charm caught the snake, taking its head neatly off. “ _Incendio_.” The pieces caught fire, quickly burning to ash. “ _Evanesco_.” The ash vanished, leaving nothing but a scorch mark behind, and Harry leveled his wand at the goggling Malfoy. “ _Expelliarmus_.” His wand landed neatly in Harry’s hand again. “I could have sworn he said disarm only, and on _three_ , not two. Got a real problem with counting, don’t you?” Laughter echoed through the crowd, and Malfoy flushed, clearly livid. Harry tossed him his wand, raising his own and giving him a tight smile. “Shall we go again?”

“I think that’s enough for now,” Flitwick intervened before Malfoy could start cursing Harry. “Mister Malfoy, step down, and that will be ten points from Slytherin. Mister Macmillan, up here.” Ernie took Malfoy’s place. “Now, I would like you to attempt to Stun Mister Potter here. Potter, I want to see a good Shield Charm out of you. On three!” Harry bowed casually to Ernie, the Hufflepuff bowing back but not taking his eyes off Harry. “One – two – three!”

“ _Stupefy_!” Ernie cried.

“ _Protego_ ,” Harry said calmly. The Stunner fizzled against the wards, and Harry gave Ernie a grin. “I felt that one. Nice!”

“Thanks,” Ernie replied. “ _Stupefy_!” Harry squawked, but managed to bring up another Shield Charm. “Sorry, just making sure you were paying attention.”

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Harry shouted.

“ _Protego_!” Harry’s spell shattered Ernie’s uneasy shield, and the boy was knocked off his feet. Harry hurried across the stage, pulling him to his feet. “I’m fine,” Ernie grumbled. “Nice shot, though.”

“Just making sure you were paying attention,” Harry echoed. Ernie rolled his eyes.

“Good sportsmanship,” Flitwick said. “Five points each to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.”

The rest of the session proceeded in the same vein, students practicing Disarming and Stunning each other. By the end of it, Harry had managed to avoid revealing his Parseltongue ability, and the crowd broke up, Harry lingering a moment to speak to Dumbledore before linking up with his friends.

–ML–

By next morning, the snow that had begun in the night had turned into a blizzard so thick that the last Herbology lesson of the term was canceled. Harry was relaxing next to the fire the Gryffindor common room, while Ron and Hermione used their time off to play a game of wizard chess.

Getting restless, Harry caught grabbed his bookbag and told his friends he was going for a walk. Heading for the library, he shivered as he felt another draft blowing through the hallway.

Harry paused in the library stacks, skimming some titles to see if there was any way to beat Parseltongue magic. He spotted several Hufflepuffs on the other side of the stack, frowning as he recognized the same group who had been speculating about his being the Heir of Slytherin.

Ernie MacMillan was talking. “I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. If Professor Lupin could get attacked, nobody’s safe.”

“But we have Professor Dumbledore, _and_ Harry Potter,” Hannah Abbott pointed out.

Ernie shrugged. “Dumbledore’s not infallible. And really, Potter’s twelve. If a teacher could be Petrified, do you really want to take chances?”

“But Lupin isn’t a Muggleborn,” Hannah argued.

“But he _is_ the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Ernie shot back. “If there’s a Dark wizard about, don’t you think the Defense professor would be the first to go?”

There was some heavy murmuring at this, and Ernie went on. “Remember what was written on the wall? Enemies of the Heir, Beware. Slytherin hated Muggles and Muggleborns. Every Muggleborn in this school is in danger.”

Hannah shook her head. “Dumbledore won’t let anyone else get hurt. And Harry’s tougher than he looks. You saw him back at the Dueling Club.”

“He got a lucky shot in,” Ernie grumbled.

“I meant when he was dueling Malfoy,” Hannah said. “He could have wiped the floor with Malfoy, and if anyone’s a Dark wizard…” Ernie paused, pondering that. “Besides, isn’t Lupin his godfather’s best friend or something?”

“They were school friends,” Susan Bones said. “My aunt knows them. She says they’re good people.”

“Which means this is personal for Harry,” Hannah went on. “And, he’s always there for people who need him. He saved Neville on their first flying lesson!”

“But there was that mess with Quirrell last year,” Ernie said darkly. “Nobody knows how he died, after all.”

“You saying Harry killed him?” Susan asked skeptically.

“That’s what Snape said,” Ernie replied. Harry gritted his teeth.

“He always seems so nice, though,” said Hannah uncertainly, “and, well, he’s the one who made You-Know-Who disappear. He can’t be all bad, can he?”

Ernie lowered his voice mysteriously, the Hufflepuffs bent closer, and Harry edged nearer so that he could catch Ernie’s words. “No one knows how he survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean to say, he was only a baby when it happened. He should have been blasted into smithereens. Maybe Harry killed Quirrell because he thought he was a threat.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “Really, Ernie? Harry Potter, a Dark wizard?”

“Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived being attacked by You-Know-Who,” Ernie argued.

“Or a half-dozen witches and wizards I could name,” Harry said, making the Hufflepuffs jump. “Remus Lupin, twice. Sirius Black, once. Frank and Alice Longbottom, three times. James and Lily Potter, three times.” He nodded to Susan. “Alastor Moody, five times. Amelia Bones, twice. Albus Dumbledore, six times.” He stared Ernie down. “You want to know how I survived? It was my mother. She sacrificed herself to save me, and that made his curse rebound.” Harry tapped his scar. “That’s why I got this. It wasn’t anything special about me. It was _her_.” Ernie was pale, and Hannah and Susan both looked ready to flee.

“Do you know who attacked Lupin?” Susan asked.

Harry frowned deeper. “Not who, but _what_. Lupin said he spotted the thing that attacked him in the mirror in the bathroom. All he remembered was giant yellow eyes.” Susan nudged out a chair for him, and Harry sat down. “You know Myrtle, that ghost down on the first-floor?”

“Haunts the girl’s loo, right?” Hannah asked.

Harry nodded. “That’s her. I spoke to her at Sir Nicholas’s deathday party – she died in that toilet, fifty years ago, when the Chamber was opened before. The only thing she remembers was seeing a pair of giant yellow eyes.”

“So why did she die, but Professor Lupin was only Petrified?” Susan asked.

“Bloody dumb luck,” Harry spat. “Myrtle saw it straight on, and got killed. Lupin saw a reflection.” He scratched his chin. “I talked to Hagrid – he’s an expert on magical beasts, especially the really big, dangerous ones. There’s only one creature that can kill with just a look, and that’s a basilisk.” He paused for effect. “Makes a lot of sense that Slytherin’s monster of choice would be a giant snake.”

Ernie paled further. “You think there’s one in the castle?”

“Well that’s the thing,” Harry replied. “You’d think someone’d notice a great bloody snake going around the castle. And as far as I know, basilisks can’t cast Disillusionment Charms. But there’s another thing. Why now? Did something change, that the basilisk or monster or whatever it is that’s been stashed away in Slytherin’s secret broom closet for a thousand years suddenly wakes up?”

“You think someone woke it up?” Susan asked.

“I think that most monsters can’t write,” Harry replied. “And I think that everyone should be very careful. You might think that Muggleborns are in danger with the legend, but Lupin getting attacked tells me that we had all better watch ourselves.” Harry pulled the mirror out of his pocket. “Get yourselves one. Check around corners, don’t go anywhere alone. Petrified’s better than dead.”

Harry left the library, heading for Dumbledore’s office. He made it all of two steps before walking into something very large and solid, which knocked him backward onto the floor. “Oh, hello, Hagrid,” Harry said, looking up.

Hagrid’s face was entirely hidden by a woolly, snow-covered balaclava, and a dead rooster was hanging from one of his massive, gloved hands. “All righ’, Harry?” he said, pulling up the balaclava so he could speak. “Why aren’t yeh in class?”

“Canceled,” said Harry, getting up. “What’re you doing in here?”

Hagrid held up the limp rooster. “Second one killed this term,” he explained. “It’s either foxes or a Blood-Suckin Bugbear, an’ I need the Headmaster’s permission ter put a charm around the hen coop.”

“Better get on that, then,” Harry said, glancing at his watch. “I’m going to be late for Transfiguration. I’ll see you later, Hagrid.”

Harry stamped up the stairs and turned along another corridor, heading for the Transfiguration classrooms. He paused as he noticed the corridor was dark, the torches had been extinguished by a strong, icy draft that was blowing through a loose windowpane. Harry closed his eyes, listening carefully, before drawing his wand. “ _Lumos_.”

His gut twisted violently as he saw a body lying on the floor, and he sprinted over to it. “Oh, no, no, no,” he hissed, rolling it over. It was Neville. Rigid and cold, a look of shock on his face, a broken mirror clutched in his hand. Shards of glass lay on the floor – Neville must have landed on the mirror.

Harry got to his feet, his breathing fast and shallow, his heart doing a kind of drumroll against his ribs. He looked wildly up and down the deserted corridor and saw a line of spiders scuttling as fast as they could away from the bodies. The only sounds were the muffled voices of teachers from the classes on either side. He swept his wand back and forth, listening for any sign of life. “Where are you,” he hissed. “Come and have a go, you bastard. We can finish this right now. _Where are you_ _?_ ” He took off down the hall, donning his Invisibility Cloak at a run.

Harry was two halls away by the time he heard Peeves screaming. “ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry rasped, taking the stairs two at a time. He paused in front of the gargoyle, tugging off the Cloak. “Lemon drop!” The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside, and Harry sprinted up the steps, hammering on the door.

“Come,” Dumbledore called.

Harry burst through the door. “There’s been another attack,” he panted. “Neville Longbottom. He’s alive, but Petrified.” Dumbledore scowled. “I don’t know about you, but I’m _done_ screwing around. Have Hagrid get a rooster, and bring the Sword of Gryffindor.”

“Harry, calm down.”

“My _friends_ are being attacked!” Harry shouted. “My _family_ is being attacked! Don’t tell me to calm down! Remus could have died! Neville could have died!”

“We don’t know the source of the attacks,” Dumbledore replied.

“We know where they’re coming from,” Harry snapped. “Who was supposed to be on duty at the bathroom?”

“Severus took the duty, he’s been under an Invisibility Cloak,” Dumbledore said.

Harry whipped the map out of his pocket, skimming it. “He’s not there now.”

Dumbledore frowned. “That is…strange.”

Harry looked up at him. “Let’s go. We should have done this in September.” He grabbed the Sword off the wall, donning his Cloak. “I’ll be at that bathroom in fifteen minutes. Get a blasted rooster and be there.” Stuffing the blade into his bag, Harry took off for the Gryffindor Tower, pausing only long enough to charm his boots silent. He ducked past a handful of sixth-years, mounting the steps and bulling through the door to his dormitory, before stripping down. Stuffing his glasses into a case, he slid contact lenses into his eyes, blinking furiously to get them settled before dressing. Trousers, snug but loose enough to run in, their pockets loaded with anything he thought he might need. He tugged a shirt made of Acromantula silk on, layering an armored dragonhide vest over it. Ideally, it would stop stabbing injuries, although Harry hoped there would be less of those this time around. Charmed boots and fingerless gloves of the same material finished it, and Harry clipped a bandolier to the Sword of Gryffindor, strapping it across his back and pulling the Cloak back on. He jogged back down the stairs, sliding down the bannister past a gaggle of fourth-year Ravenclaws and skidding around a corner.

Dumbledore was waiting outside the bathroom, a cage in one hand and his wand in the other. He nodded as Harry pulled the Cloak off. Harry checked the Map again, trying to catch his breath. “Myrtle’s in there, but no sign of anyone else.”

Dumbledore raised his wand. “ _Animalis Revelio_.” Nothing happened. “It’s not in there.”

“Good.” Harry shouldered the door open, grimacing as he saw the scene before him. “Oh, wonderful.”

Myrtle was floating six inches off the floor, immobile and horizontal. No longer pearly-white and transparent, but black and smoky, the ghost wore an expression of shock. “Nothing we can do for her at the moment,” Dumbledore said. “Let us proceed.”

Harry strode to the sink, closing his eyes. “ _Open_.” The entrance opened, exposing the pipe large enough for a man to slide into.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said immediately. “Allow me to go first.”

Harry nodded. “You’re the better fighter.”

The old man grunted as he slid his legs into the pipe, before disappearing into the darkness. A minute later, the Headmaster’s phoenix Patronus flittered out of the pipe, speaking with his voice. “It is safe. Follow quickly.” Harry slid into the pipe and let himself slide down, trying to ignore the accumulated filth. He could see more pipes branching off in all directions, but none as large as theirs, which twisted and turned, sloping steeply downward, and he knew that he was falling deeper below the school than even the dungeons.

When the pipe leveled out, Harry braced himself, and as he shot out of the end, Harry drew his wand, rolling to his feet and coming out in a ready stance. Dumbledore was waiting, the man glancing down the tunnel with a dark look on his face. “Come on,” Harry rasped. “I’ll hear it coming.” The tunnel was so dark that they could only see a little distance ahead. Their shadows on the wet walls looked monstrous in the wandlight. “But if you see me hit the deck, set the rooster loose and go fetal.”

Dumbledore nodded grimly. The tunnel was so quiet, Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and almost jumped at a loud _crunch_ as he stepped on a rat’s skull. There was a large, dark mass ahead, and Harry held up a hand, Dumbledore stopping short behind him. Harry moved his wand to the side, seeing the light play across the form ahead, and pushed forward, signaling Dumbledore to follow. Harry and pressed a hand against the shed skin. “It’s a shedding,” he explained.

“This thing must be massive,” Dumbledore breathed.

“And I fought it at twelve,” Harry replied. “All I had with me was Fawkes and the Sorting Hat.”

Dumbledore grimaced. “Fawkes is very close to a Burning Day. I do not know whether he would be capable of fighting.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Harry muttered. “He blinded the basilisk. Gave me a fighting chance.” The two wizards pushed past the coils of snake skin, leapfrogging forward silently through the winding tunnel. As they crept around yet another bend, Harry saw a solid wall ahead on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds. “ _Open_ ,” said Harry, in a low, faint hiss. The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry lead the way inside.

The two were standing at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. His heart beating very fast, Harry stood listening to the chill silence. With no sign of the basilisk, Harry signaled Dumbledore, the two moving forward between the serpentine columns. He kept his eyes narrowed, ready to clamp them shut at the smallest sign of movement. The hollow eye sockets of the stone snakes seemed to be following him. More than once, with a jolt of the stomach, he thought he saw one stir. Then, as they drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry had to crane his neck to look up into the giant face above: It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard’s sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, facedown, lay a single black-robed figure.

“Son of a bitch,” Harry blurted out. “I didn’t see _that_ coming.”

Dumbledore had set the cage down and was glancing around warily. “Is he alive?”

Harry reluctantly checked for a pulse. “Barely.”

“For the moment,” a soft voice said.

Harry spun around, spotting the teenaged Tom Riddle leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. “Tom Riddle?” Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. “You’re looking awfully young for a bloke who went to this school fifty years ago.”

“I’m a memory,” said Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary.” He pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the diary Horcrux.

“How did Snape come by you?” Harry asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Riddle admitted. “When he started writing in my diary, he intended to dig out some of my secrets, trying to find a better way to fight me.” He smirked. “He didn’t understand that in doing so, he was giving me access to his mind. I must admit, he was…very stubborn.”

“Were the targets his idea, or yours?” Harry asked. Dumbledore had faded into the background.

“His, mostly,” Riddle replied. “That werewolf, the idiotic Longbottom boy.” He sneered at Harry. “You and that Mudblood girl were to be next. I’m surprised to see you so soon. From everything Severus told me about you, you’re not very bright.”

“Snape sees what he wants to see,” Harry said. “Why exactly aren’t you trying to kill me right now?”

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.”

“So quit stalling and talk to me,” Harry replied.

“Well,” Riddle said, smiling pleasantly, “how is it that you – a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent – managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?”

“You’re not,” Harry commented calmly.

“Not what?” snapped Riddle.

“Greatest wizard of all time?” Harry asked incredulously. “Are you high? I doubt you’d even crack the top ten! You may terrify everyone now, but there were countless others before you and there’ll be plenty more afterwards.” He laughed. “Greatest wizard of all time, seriously? Come off it, Riddle. Dumbledore has more skill and more brains than you’ll ever have.”

Riddle practically snarled. “Dumbledore, that meddling fool. He never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did. Twice – in your past, in my future – we have met. And twice I failed to kill you. How did you survive? Tell me everything. The longer you talk,” he added softly, “the longer you stay alive.”

Harry snorted. “And the longer you get to feed off Snape. You can fool some of the people some of the time. Fact of the matter is, you’re full of it. So either piss off back to your diary or bring it on.”

Riddle shrugged. “Suit yourself. Let’s match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against the famous Harry Potter.” Riddle looked up into the stone face of Slytherin, high above him in the half-darkness. Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed. “ _Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four._ ” Slytherin’s gigantic stone face was moving, and something was stirring inside the statue’s mouth.

Harry drew his wand, sending a charm he had learned from Flitwick bouncing down the statue’s gullet. The basilisk screeched as the spells impacted it, and Harry saw showers of blood erupt from the statue’s mouth, before he glared at Riddle. The man was snarling, practically spitting as he screeched in Parseltongue, commanding the basilisk to kill Harry. “ _YOU CAN STILL SMELL HIM. KILL HIM!_ ” Fishing around in a pocket, Harry pitched a tiny glass bauble off to the side, the glass shattering and filling the room with the scent of vanilla. The snake paused, trying to find Harry’s scent amidst the fog that was flooding the room, and Harry drew the Sword of Gryffindor, ducking behind a pillar as the basilisk plowed forwards.

“Where the hell is Dumbledore?” Harry groused, lunging out and leaving a long gash down the basilisk’s flank. The massive snake thrashed, nearly smashing Harry against the wall with a strike from its tail, and Harry rolled out of the way, taking a heartbeat to make sure he still had his wand.

Then a whip of fire lashed out from the other side of the Chamber, searing a hole through the basilisk’s flank. Harry grinned fiercely as Dumbledore lashed out again, the basilisk screeching in agony as fire ate into its hide. Harry sheathed the Sword, clambering up to the upper level of the Chamber and looping around towards Snape’s unconscious body as Riddle spewed profanities at Dumbledore that would make a nun burst into flames. The snake lunged at Dumbledore, trying to follow the noise, but the old man sidestepped neatly, an illusion of himself clattering along down the length of the Chamber. Harry reached into another pocket, lobbing a wind-up duck ahead of the snake. It burst into several copies, all of them chattering and quacking along the floor. With the amount of noise, the snake couldn’t follow Dumbledore, and the Headmaster made a break for the rooster cage, his boots skidding on the slimy floor as he whipped the covering off. The snake’s tail lashed by, and Dumbledore gave a pained grunt as he was winged by it, his shoulder deforming visibly as he slammed into one of the snake statues.

Harry leapt from his position, sprinting past the basilisk and dragging Dumbledore out of the way. “Fix that, I got this!” Running back out, Harry dropped to his knees, sliding under the basilisk’s thrashing tail and grabbing the cage. Without hesitating, he jabbed the rooster inside with his wand.

The rooster gave a pained crow, and the snake began to scream, writhing around and smashing sculptures left and right. As it got too close to Harry, he reluctantly grabbed Snape and plunged into the filthy water. When he surfaced, the snake was dead, but Riddle was still standing where Harry had last seen him, in shock. Harry dragged Snape out of the water and laid him on his side on the stone floor, before walking over to Dumbledore. “You got it?”

Dumbledore pulled the Diary out of his robes and handed it to Harry. Harry was tapping it against his other hand, the basilisk’s mouth conveniently nearby. “Suck it, Riddle.” He impaled the diary on one of the basilisk’s fangs, and ink spurted out of the book in torrents, streaming over Harry’s hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing, and he suddenly vanished. Ink was still oozing from the diary, and Harry drew the Sword of Gryffindor, calmly stabbing the basilisk through the front of its head, aiming for one of the venom glands.

“Let’s go,” Harry said, pulling the Sword free. Then came a faint moan from the end of the Chamber. “Oh. I forgot about him.” Snape was stirring. Dumbledore and Harry walked over to him, Harry resting the flat of the bloodstained blade on his shoulder as the man rolled over and sat up.

Snape rubbed his forehead, glancing up at Dumbledore. His eyes traveled over the dead basilisk, Harry holding the bloody Sword of Gryffindor, and the diary in Harry’s off hand. “I suppose we have a great deal to talk about,” he said finally.

“I am very disappointed, Severus,” Dumbledore said gravely. “I thought you had more sense than that.”

“That diary, it’s a Horcrux,” Snape replied. “I intended to break it, to dig out the Dark Lord’s secrets and then-”

“And then you got yourself possessed,” Harry snapped.

Dumbledore was frowning at Snape. “How did you get it? We turned this over to the Ministry.”

“Lucius Malfoy,” Snape said. “He had it retrieved by contacts within the Ministry. Trying to break the case they were building against him. He gave it to me, saying it was the Dark Lord’s will that it be returned to Hogwarts.”

“Good luck making it stick. Let’s get out of here,” Harry replied, tucking the diary into his vest as Dumbledore pulled Severus to his feet, looping Snape’s arm over his shoulders and supporting the younger man’s weight. “We need to send him an owl.”

–ML–

Colin Creevey was unlucky enough to be walking by when Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape emerged from the bathroom, smeared with slime and filth, spattered with blood, and brandishing a sword. He jumped, before running away screaming. All three stopped to watch. “Suppose we should tell him it’s all right?” Harry asked after a long moment.

“Later,” Dumbledore said. “We need to go to the Hospital Wing. I want Severus checked out.”

They made quite a sight, walking through the castle towards the Hospital Wing. People moved out of the way on instinct when confronted with a young man carrying a sword and the Hogwarts Headmaster, but there were plenty of stares and whispers as they passed by.

“I feel like Lady Godiva,” Harry muttered.

Dumbledore stifled a snort. “I expect we do look a bit unusual.”

McGonagall pushed through the crowd, gaping at them. “Headmaster! What’s happened?”

“Long story,” Harry said as they entered the Hospital Wing, holding the door for Dumbledore. “Talk to you inside. I think we all need a stiff drink.”

“You’re too young,” Dumbledore replied.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, deny the victorious orphan a celebratory shot.”

“Poppy!” Dumbledore called.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her office, stopping short when she saw them. “Harry, why are you back here again?”

“Hey, _I’m_ fine,” Harry protested, pointing at the others accusingly. “It’s them who are hurt.”

McGonagall locked the door behind her. “All right, talk to me, Albus.”

“Severus was passed a Horcrux by Lucius Malfoy,” Dumbledore explained, setting Snape down on a bed. “He dug into it, intending to root out some of Voldemort’s secrets.”

“I feel like a damn fool,” Snape groused.

“Older and wiser wizards than you have been hoodwinked by Voldemort,” Dumbledore said gently. “But I thought you would have known better, Severus.”

Harry felt the adrenaline wearing off and the post-stress crash beginning, and sat down hard on one of the beds, unzipping his vest and tugging at his bootlaces. “Professor, you need me for anything else?”

“No, I think we have the issue well in hand,” Dumbledore replied. “I would suggest a nap.”

“Capital idea,” Harry agreed, struggling to strip out of his filthy clothes. “Professor McGonagall, I’m going to have to miss Transfiguration today.”

McGonagall rolled her eyes. “I’m sure we can schedule a makeup lesson.” Madam Pomfrey passed him a set of pajamas without even looking as she began checking over Snape, and Harry managed to get changed and crawl into the bed before passing out.

–ML–

It had been a long time since Harry woke up in the Hospital Wing, but it felt more or less the same as it always had. He sat up, rubbing furiously at his irritated eyes, feeling one of the lenses sticking to his cheek as the other came out. Spotting his glasses on a table next to him, he slid them on, silently grateful to whoever had brought them.

“Hey, Harry,” Neville said from the next bed. “Heard you had something of an adventure while I was out.”

Harry shrugged. “Same old, same old.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. I wish I did, but I’m just playing in JK Rowling’s sandbox. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit’s being made.

—ML—

Neville laughed. “Sure, Harry. And that’s what, a toothpick?” Harry glanced down, seeing the Sword of Gryffindor leaning against his bed, the basilisk’s blood still staining the blade.

“Ah, Harry, you’re awake,” Albus said, emerging from Madam Pomfrey’s office with his arm in a sling. “I trust you are feeling well-rested.”

Harry checked his watch. “Fourteen hours of sleep will do that. What happened with Myrtle?”

“She was wafted up here by Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore explained. “We restored her, and she has returned to her lavatory.” He looked to Snape, who was still asleep in one of the beds. “There are…other matters to attend to, however.”

“What happened with him?” Neville asked quietly.

“Harry, I would ask that you be discrete,” Dumbledore warned.

“I can tell him now or I can tell him later, but the truth will have its day,” Harry shot back, finding a clean set of robes at the foot of his bed and pulling them on. “Neville, Snape got possessed by a shade of Voldemort. He was setting the basilisk on people.” Neville’s face darkened. “We killed the shade, and the basilisk. Now, as much as I would like to see him crucified by the public, it’d probably be best if that didn’t get out.”

Neville shrugged. “Fair enough. Everyone hates him anyway.”

Snape groaned, sitting up. Neville and Harry quickly fell silent, trying to blend into the background. “Ah, Albus. Any word?”

“There seem to be no lingering effects,” Dumbledore replied. “You were lucky.”

“Thank you for saving me, Albus,” Snape said softly. “I’m not sure I deserved it.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me who saved you,” Dumbledore corrected, his eyes twinkling. “It was Harry who slew the basilisk, and who destroyed the diary.”

Harry had no skill with Legilimency, but he was absolutely sure that at that moment Snape would have preferred death to owing Harry his life. “I see,” the man ground out finally.

The door slammed open, and Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, glaring at the newcomer. Harry turned, spotting Lucius Malfoy sweeping into the room, Dobby at his heels.

“Ah, Lucius,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, Snape pretending to be asleep. “I was not aware that you were coming.”

“Dreadful business, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment and nearly cuffing Dobby in the head as he went, “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension — you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed, a ghost and a student,” Dumbledore agreed.

“As you have failed to stop these attacks —”

“Ah, actually, they have been stopped,” Dumbledore said.

Lucius paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“The attacks. We’ve found the source. The problem has been dealt with. If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside, but we have already handled the issue.”

Lucius was glaring at everyone in the room. “Have you now.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore replied. “And, you see, I received eleven letters this morning, from the other school governors. Very strange tales they told me, too. Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they didn’t agree to suspend me. Rather fortunate, wasn’t it?”

Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury. “Very interesting. Who was the culprit?”

“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.” He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy closely. Harry spotted the edge of one of his gloves poking out from the diary.

“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore.

“A clever plan,” Dumbledore said in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. “But very surprising. You see, a diary identical to this one was found slipped into Ginny Weasley’s belongings before the start of term this year. When it was identified as a Dark object, it was handed over to the Ministry. I contacted them when this was recovered, and found out that the diary they were given had mysteriously vanished from the evidence locker.” Dumbledore’s face was neutral, but his eyes were blazing. “Is there any chance you had something to do with that, Lucius?”

“Of course not,” Lucius spat. “How would I have recovered that from the Ministry?”

“How indeed,” Dumbledore said calmly. “I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, the consequences could be quite severe.”

Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf. “We’re going, Dobby!”

At his gesture, Dumbledore quickly handed the diary to Harry, and Harry stepped forward. “Mister Malfoy, don’t you want this back?”

“What are you-” He glared at Harry as he found the diary forced into his hand. Mr. Malfoy flipped the book open, flinging the gloves aside, then looked furiously from the ruined book to Harry. “You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he said softly. Harry kept his face blank as he saw Dobby getting back to his feet, the gloves clutched in his hands. “They were meddlesome fools, too.” He turned to go, dropping the book on the floor. “Come, Dobby. I said, come.” But Dobby didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s blood-spattered gloves, and looking at them as though it were a priceless treasure.

“Master has given clothes,” the elf said softly. “Master gave it to Dobby.”

“What’s that?” spat Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?”

“Got gloves,” Dobby said in disbelief. “Master threw them, and Dobby caught them, and Dobby — Dobby is free.”

Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf then he lunged at Harry. “You’ve lost me my servant, boy!”

As Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!” Harry’s knee came up, slamming into Lucius Malfoy’s groin. The man grunted in pain, and Harry kicked him in the balls again a moment before there was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger. “You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry Potter. You shall go now.”

“Lucius,” Dumbledore said from the doorway to the Hospital Wing, his tone level and icy cold. “Hear me and hear me _very well_. If you _ever_ touch one of my students again, there will be no force on this planet that will protect you. Leave this castle immediately.” Lucius had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak around him and hurried out of sight. Harry took no small amount of satisfaction in noting that he had gained something of a limp.

“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” Dobby said shrilly. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!”

“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning as he subtly removed the Memory Charm on Dobby. “Just promise never to try and save my life again.” The elf’s face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile. “You want a job?”

“Could…could Dobby work for Harry Potter?” Dobby asked quietly.

Harry shrugged. “I would have to pay you. I don’t do slave labor.” Dobby looked unsure. “And you would be voluntarily employed – and for goodness sake, let’s get you a suit or something, because that pillowcase just isn’t you.”

“Would Harry Potter have enough work for Dobby?” Dobby asked.

Harry scratched his chin. “If you find you want some _more_ work, I know the Weasleys could always use an extra pair of hands. They’re good people. But you’d be mostly working for me.”

Dobby thought about it. “Could Dobby have a day or two to think about it?”

“First things first,” Harry said, handing him a couple of Galleons. “Go get yourself cleaned up, get yourself some nicer clothes and a hot meal while you think about it. Then come back, and we’ll talk terms.” Dobby grinned widely, before vanishing with a pop.

—ML—

Rumors had been swarming Hogwarts within half an hour of Harry, Dumbledore, and Snape emerging from the Chamber of Secrets, and over the course of a day had grown faster than Hagrid’s pumpkins. As Harry entered the Gryffindor Common Room, he was nearly knocked off his feet by the cheers and hollers. Neville had told them what had happened in the Hospital Wing, and Fred and George had promptly put a party together. Harry told the edited version of the story he and Dumbledore had cobbled together to raucous applause.

When the party finally began to wind down, Harry trotted upstairs, only to find Ginny waiting nervously outside his dorm. “Hey, Ginny, what’s up?”

“I…that diary, it was part of it, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly. Harry nodded, and suddenly she was hugging him fiercely. “That could have been me,” she sobbed. “Thank you, Harry.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said soothingly, rubbing her back. “It could have been. But it wasn’t. That’s what matters.” She reluctantly let him go, wiping her eyes. “Go get some fudge. You’ll feel better.”

“I try not to eat my feelings,” she giggled, “but I’ll do it.”

“Everything all right, here?” Ron asked from the top of the stairs. Ginny pushed past him without a word. “Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “Nothing happened. She was upset because she almost wound up with the diary.”

Ron winced. “Yeah, I reckon I’d have been a bit tetchy in her place too. Come on, I’m gonna owl Mum. She should know about this.”

—ML—

Without having to worry about anything else, Harry’s Christmas break was an utter joy. Dobby popped in after a day or two and gladly accepted Harry’s offer of work, although he nearly had a fit when Harry offered him ten Galleons a week, and weekends off. The elf dickered him down to two days off a month and a Galleon a week, and nervously straightened his neon-green suit jacket before popping away to introduce himself to Sirius. Between annoying Ron and Neville by singing Muggle carols with Hermione and Dean, and having tea with McGonagall, Flitwick, or Remus, Harry found himself practicing Quidditch in the snow with Oliver and Ron. George had volunteered his broom so Ron could train as a reserve Keeper, and the Chasers spent a few afternoons barraging him with Quaffles while Oliver shouted at him and Harry zipped back and forth, trying to distract him.

Several hours into one such session, Oliver called a break, and Ron landed heavily, panting. “Not bad,” Oliver said as Harry passed around water.

“Not bad?” Ron asked incredulously. “I let in about half of those!”

“And you’re a beginner,” Oliver said gently. “You’ve got a lot of practice to do, but there’s definitely potential.” He snorted. “Besides, anyone who lives with Fred and George won’t be thrown off his game by the other side booing.” Ron gave him a weak grin. “Come on, I think we’re done for today.”

The next few days passed in a blur, Harry managing to sneak off for advanced classes with McGonagall, Flitwick, and Dumbledore. Before he knew it, it was Christmas Day, and Ron poked him awake, Neville having already left for his family tradition. “Merry Christmas!” the boy said, nearly bludgeoning him with a gift. “This is from me!”

Harry chuckled, reaching under his bed and tossing a package to Ron. “This is for you. But open it last.” Harry unwrapped the gift from Ron, finding a book called _Flying with the Cannons_ , a book of interesting facts about his favorite Quidditch team. Hermione showed up a bit later, yawning widely and carrying gifts for each of them. Ron found a pair of new Keeper’s gloves inside and hugged the brunette tightly, leaving her blushing brightly as she handed Harry his gift, a luxurious eagle-feather quill he remembered her picking out for him in the past. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating, and as Harry unwrapped Sirius’s gift, he couldn’t stop his smile.

“He got you a mirror?” Ron asked. “You don’t look _that_ bad.”

Harry made a rude gesture at him. “Sirius Black!” The mirror blurred, before revealing Sirius’s face. “What’s up, Padfoot?”

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Sirius said warmly. “The other miscreants with you?” Harry turned the mirror around so he could see Ron and Hermione. “Hey, you two.”

“Merry Christmas, Sirius,” Hermione called, Ron waving hello. “Did you get my gift?”

“Very funny,” Sirius replied.

At Harry’s questioning look, Hermione grinned. “I got him a box of dog treats.”

“Anyway, I’ll catch you later,” Sirius said, taking a bite of one. “I’ve been trying to undo some of the damage my lovely mother did, and I have to drop by Gringotts and file some paperwork.”

“Alright. See you, Sirius.” He put the mirror away, looking up as he heard a gasp.

Ron had unwrapped the largest package the foot of his bed, the tag saying it was from his parents. The redhead’s mouth was open in surprise, and he stared down at the broomstick. “My parents got me a Cleansweep Seven,” he said softly. “They…they got me a broomstick.”

“They must have figured that you would need it,” Harry replied as he opened his present from Mrs. Weasley, a new, hand-knitted sweater and a large plum cake. Remus had given him a book entitled _Rise and Fall of Dark Wizards_ that spoke about his parents.

“But they couldn’t have known that I would make it,” Ron protested.

Harry grinned at him. “You know they bought that during the summer?” Ron goggled at him. “Oh yeah. Same time they bought Fred and George’s.” The boy swallowed hard. “Shows the confidence they have in you.”

“But I…”

“I think I figured out how you’re better than your brothers,” Harry continued. Ron raised an eyebrow. “Look, Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was Quidditch team captain, Percy’s a prefect, the twins are jokers and still intelligent – but honestly? I think you’re a better bloke than any of them. You met a kid who didn’t really have any friends and you made him part of your family.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re already standing out from your brothers, Ron. You’ve got more heart than any of them.”

Ron was blushing so hard his face was redder than his hair. “I...I guess so,” he mumbled.

Grabbing a change of clothes, Harry headed for the showers.

—ML—

The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling, warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn’t noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read “Pinhead,” kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry didn’t even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks about his new sweater from the Slytherin table. From what he had heard, his father had been sacked from his position as one of the school’s governors.

That evening, Harry found his way up to Dumbledore’s office after receiving a note via Fawkes. The old man was waiting patiently, a mug of tea steaming on the table. “Ah, Harry. Thank you for coming.” Harry nodded. “Care for a lemon drop?”

Harry shook his head. “I couldn’t have another bite. Especially of something sugary.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I understand. I miss the days when my stomach could handle seconds of a heavy meal.” He picked the box full of Horcruxes up, setting it on his desk. “Now that we have a weapon capable of destroying them, I think it is high time we disposed of these.”

“Agreed,” Harry said. “You want to do the honors, or should I?”

Dumbledore conjured a large marble slab and dumped the Horcruxes onto it. “You may have the honor.” Harry took a grip on the Sword of Gryffindor and aimed carefully at Ravenclaw’s diadem, before cleaving it neatly in two with a single swing. A bloodlike substance, dark and tarry, seemed to be leaking from the broken pieces, and the faintest, most distant scream of pain echoed in the room.

“That’s one,” Harry said. “You want the Resurrection Stone?”

Dumbledore was staring at it, fingering his wand. “I…” he paused. “I should not, but I do.”

“You want answers?” Harry asked, resting the point of the sword on the ground. “Or do you want your family back?”

Dumbledore thought about it. “Both.”

“The Resurrection Stone will bring them back, but as shades, not as themselves,” Harry said softly. “If you want to speak to your sister one more time and bid her goodbye, that can be done. But as a wise old coot once said to me, it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

Dumbledore stared at him. “That was me, wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded. “You can’t let the past consume you.” He carefully swung the sword again, severing the Resurrection Stone from the ring, and destroying the Horcrux. He nudged the Stone away with the toe of his trainer. “If you want your answers, Albus…”

Dumbledore took a shaky breath. “I...may, but not now. There is one more.”

Harry destroyed the locket with a single stabbing motion. “Done. Now quit stalling. Check the Stone, make sure it’s free of curses now.” Dumbledore performed a few detection spells, before gingerly picking it up. “Do you want a moment?”

“No,” Dumbledore whispered. “You made this possible, Harry. You should see it.” He turned the Stone over in his hand three times as Harry set the Sword on the desk. “Ariana Dumbledore.”

“Albus,” a soft voice said. Ariana looked similar to the portrait of her Harry had seen in the Hog’s Head, and she smiled softly at him. “You got old, brother.”

“You should have too,” Albus replied softly, his eyes filling with tears. “I…”

“I know what you want to know,” she interrupted. “It wasn’t your fault.” He opened his mouth, and she went on. “And it wasn’t Aberforth’s, either. I’ve…been looking in on you, both of you. You should let me go, Albus.”

Tears were silently running down the Headmaster’s face. “And if I don’t want to?”

“I don’t belong here,” she said. “You know that. Live your life, Albus. I’ll come back if you want to give Abe a chance to say goodbye, but…both of you, you’re brothers, and you should be brothers. I’ve forgiven you. You should forgive yourself.” She stepped forward, hugging him. “Goodbye, Albus. I love you.”

“I love you too, Ariana,” Albus said, weeping openly. A moment later, she was gone, and Harry put a comforting hand on Dumbledore’s shoulder as he let out the emotions he had held on to for a hundred years.

—ML—

New Year’s Day found Harry on top of the Astronomy Tower, under his Invisibility Cloak and a warming charm. After Dumbledore’s catharsis and the destruction of the Horcruxes, Harry had felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had been making leaps and bounds in his training with the professors, managing to hold his own in practice duels with them, although he was keenly aware of what all of them could do when the gloves came off. He had even persuaded Remus to pass on a few spells he and the other Marauders had developed during their time at school.

As the sun rose, Harry slowly stood, stretching, and slowly descended the stairs to the Common Room, catching a quick catnap before breakfast.

Ron was dozing at the table, still drowsy from the Gryffindor’s New Year’s Eve party that had begun at noon and ended around four the next morning. Hermione was infuriatingly bright and chipper, as bushy-tailed as she was bushy-haired.

The mail arrived as Harry was smearing margarine on some toast, and he reached up without looking, catching a letter from Mrs. Weasley before it hit Ron in the forehead.

“Oh, hey, a bonus,” Hermione said, turning over a postcard. “My parents are having a lovely time in Paris.” She read the back of the card. “I just hope they don’t get me a little brother or sister.” Neville snorted into his porridge, wiping his mouth as he laughed.

Ron slowly tore open his letter, rubbing his eyes. “You got us a house-elf?”

“Sort of,” Harry said, taking a bite of his toast. “He’s paid, he works for me, but he wants _more_ work than we can give him.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked.

Harry paused. “You know how I told you a while back that the magical world isn’t that different from the Muggle world?” Hermione nodded. “Well, there are a couple big differences. One of them is that slavery, in a way, is still legal.” Hermione’s jaw dropped. “House-elves. They’re not human, so the fact that they don’t get paid and really have no rights doesn’t bother most people.”

“They don’t get paid?” Hermione asked. “I…he…”

Harry, recognizing the signs of an impending Granger apoplectic fit, put a hand on her arm. “Most people who own house-elves – and I hate that it’s referred to as _owning_ them – are decent people who treat them well.” He paused. “Doesn’t change the fact that they benefit from the service of a being that isn’t paid and doesn’t have the right to leave.” Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Harry pushed on. “The elves themselves are more or less conditioned to think that the current order of things isn’t an issue. They _like_ to work, and most House Elves get offended if you try to pay them. They don't want to be free.”

“So you're telling me it's alright to enslave an entire race of magical creatures?” Hermione demanded angrily.

Harry sighed. “That _wasn't_ what I was telling you but all right, let's talk about this entirely new topic. There’s some debate over whether an elf _needs_ to be bonded to a family or they’ll go bonkers or die, but nobody’s in much of a hurry to find out. Dobby, my elf? He used to work for the Malfoys. They treated him horribly, and I managed to get him freed accidentally. He gets paid, less than I would like, but he refused to accept more. He also gets time off, and he’s under standing orders to take time off if he gets sick. He wasn’t sure if we would give him enough work, so he’s agreed to help out at the Weasley’s.” Hermione’s mouth flapped open and shut for a moment as she processed what Harry had said. “I know you’re still uncomfortable with the idea, and I’m right there with you. Dobby’s my employee, he’s not a servant and not a slave. And Hogwarts has them, too.”

Hermione looked as if her world was ending. “You’re not serious.”

Harry shook his head. “You think Filch cleans this whole castle by himself? They do the laundry, the cooking, most of the cleaning, and see to the fires. And they’re happy with it, although that’s probably because of centuries of indoctrination.”

“I…this won’t do,” Hermione finally said.

“I know,” Harry replied softly. “But you can’t upend the whole system overnight. Dumbledore treats them well, makes sure they don’t overwork themselves, and if they would accept payment, he would give it. But they don’t want freedom right now, and pushing for immediate emancipation would just upset them. It’s a generational problem, and if you want to change it, I’d suggest studying the laws regarding them and work towards outlawing their abuse.”

—ML—

Slughorn whistled as he saw the basilisk. “That’s…an impressive specimen. I’ve never seen one before, but I know they don’t typically reach this size.” Harry was lurking in the shadows, under his Invisibility Cloak.

“The eyes are a loss, but the rest of it needs to be rendered down for use,” Dumbledore said. “The majority of it would be useful for sale or as potions ingredients, but the bone and hide need to be set aside.”

“I see,” Slughorn said, pressing a hand against the side of the creature. “You and young Harry faced this alone?”

“He did most of the work,” Dumbledore remarked. “Made an excellent accounting of himself.”

“Magnificent creature,” Slughorn said softly. “A shame it had to be destroyed.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I do regret its loss. The legend holds that Slytherin intended to turn it loose on those he deemed unworthy of attending, but everything we have seen indicates that the basilisk was intended as a _protector_ of the school.”

Slughorn pulled his hand away from the creature’s cold hide. “To have one’s purpose so perverted is truly a shame.” He looked to Dumbledore. “I’ll need a week, perhaps two, to render it down properly. The innate magic of the creature has kept it fresh thus far, but we’ll need stasis spells. Ideally, the carcass would be moved to someplace more practical, but with a specimen this size…” He paused as Dumbledore shrank the beast down easily. “Impressive as always, Albus.”

“That charm will last another hour, so I suggest you prepare your lab,” Dumbledore replied. “Once the term ends, you will have the free time to work on the remains.”

—ML—

The next few months passed calmly and quietly, almost worryingly so. Harry kept finding himself lying awake at night, expecting something else to go horribly wrong as June approached. As February wound to a close, he finally gave in and went to Dumbledore.

“Having trouble sleeping, you say?” Dumbledore asked. “I had not expected that.”

Harry shrugged. “I’m used to worrying about some problem or other around this time of year. Some problem or other always showed up.” He stroked the half-grown Fawkes under the beak, the phoenix trilling happily. “I don’t really know what to do with myself when I’m not worrying about Voldemort kicking in the door. Granted, I’m not in a hurry for that to happen, either.”

“Do you fear Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked.

“Absolutely,” Harry replied bluntly. “I’ve seen firsthand what he can do. Repeatedly.”

“Yet you speak his name freely.”

Harry snorted. “Fearing a made-up name is silly, although I refrained from using it for a while during the war because they had placed a Taboo on it and were using it to catch resistance members. But fearing an incredibly powerful, ruthless dark wizard who kills and tortures for fun? That’s just good sense.”

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. “I understand. Well then. How are your classes coming?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you aren’t getting reports on me?”

To his credit, Dumbledore didn’t deny it. “Perhaps I simply wanted your view of things?”

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve had a chance to get a proper education at Hogwarts,” Harry admitted. “I wonder if this is what things would have been like if I hadn’t been here in the first place. I’m sure there were some fifth years that got very upset when end-of-year exams got cancelled.” Dumbledore chuckled. “Although Hermione was even more upset. Between getting turned into a catgirl and being Petrified, she somehow managed to keep up in class.”

Dumbledore stared at him. “I’m sorry, I could have sworn you said ‘turned into a catgirl.’ Was there a problem in Transfiguration class?”

Harry gave him a weak grin. “No, actually, that was our fault. See, the last time around, we thought that Malfoy was the Heir of Slytherin, and Hermione came up with the idea to use Polyjuice Potion to impersonate some Slytherins and get him to admit it.” Harry thought back. “In hindsight, that idea was so ridiculous I’m surprised we didn’t get caught.”

“What happened?” Dumbledore asked, bemused.

“Well, Hermione conned Lockhart into signing a note so she could get the book with the recipe out of the Restricted Section, and we made the stuff in Myrtle’s bathroom – ironic, considering we were sitting on top of the entrance to the Chamber all that time. We got most of the ingredients, but Hermione had to steal some of the stuff from Snape’s private stores. You’d have thought he would have guarded that stuff more closely. Anyway, Ron and I drugged Crabbe and Goyle, stole some of their hairs, and locked them in a closet. Hermione had the bright idea of using Millicent Bulstrode’s hair that had been left on her robes during a dust-up at the Dueling Club. Unfortunately, it turned out to be cat hair, and Hermione found herself turned halfway into a cat. Madam Pomfrey managed to set her right, but was stuck in the Hospital Wing for several weeks.”

“And you and Mister Weasley?”

“Well, with everything else going on, none of us had the idea of finding out where the Slytherin Common Room was, so we wound up wandering the dungeons until Malfoy found us. We wasted most of our hour that way, and had roughly just enough time to find out Malfoy had no idea who the Heir of Slytherin was, but wanted to help him, before it wore off. We made a break for it, found out Hermione was part cat, and you know the rest.”

Dumbledore looked at him for a moment, contemplating what Harry had said. “You realize you admitted to breaking roughly fifty of the school’s rules?”

“Good luck making any of it stick,” Harry pointed out. “We didn’t do any of that.” He grinned at the Headmaster. “And after Ron and I went after Ginny and I killed the basilisk, you awarded us enough points to win the House Cup again.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “I wonder what possessed me to encourage your reckless behavior.”

“In my first year, when we got through your traps and nearly handed the Stone to Voldemort, you gave us enough points to win the House Cup for the first time,” Harry added.

“Wait, you made it through the traps?” Dumbledore asked.

“Without much trouble, even,” Harry said. “Hagrid mentioned that Fluffy went to sleep as soon as he heard music, so I played the flute he gave me for Christmas. Hermione knew how to fight off the Devil’s Snare, I caught the key, Ron played us across the chessboard and sacrificed himself so we could win. Quirrell had already knocked out the troll he supplied, and Hermione figured out Snape’s logic puzzle.”

“And what was that you mentioned about nearly handing the Stone to Voldemort?”

Harry gave him a pained smile. “Well, we went after it thinking we could stop Snape, who we believed was after it himself, or for Voldemort. McGonagall refused to believe us when we told her someone was going to try to steal it, saying it was too well protected.” Harry scratched his chin. “You know, that might have been when I really lost my faith in the Hogwarts staff. If three first-years could make it through…”

“Voldemort couldn’t have retrieved the Stone from the Mirror,” Dumbledore pointed out.

“Given time, he could have,” Harry retorted. “And if he didn’t have the time to break down the enchantments on the Mirror at that moment, he could have _taken_ the whole thing.”

“No, I mean he couldn’t have retrieved it, because the Stone was never _in_ the Mirror,” Dumbledore said calmly. “It was a fake. The real Philosopher’s Stone was hidden in my office under a Fidelius Charm. The mirror was a trap. The entire set of protective traps around it were simply a decoy.” He gave Harry a pained smile. “And, of course, because Hagrid brought a three-headed dog to the castle. The rest of the traps just sort of…spiraled, from there.”

Harry stared at him. “So we risked our lives for nothing? Ron almost got killed! Twice!”

Dumbledore shrugged. “At least you won the House Cup.”

—ML—

“…it could affect our whole future,” Hermione was saying to Harry and Ron at Easter as they pored over lists of electives. Neville had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Dean ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Seamus followed his lead, and Hermione was consulting the notebook Harry had given her.

Harry shrugged. “That’s true, to a degree. But even if you wind up wanting to do something else after you graduate, there are people who could tutor you. But let’s get another opinion. Hey, Percy, you got a moment?”

“Sure,” the prefect said. “Ah, selecting classes for next year?” Harry nodded. “Looking for experienced advice?”

“Sure, but we’ll settle for yours,” Ron replied.

“Ha ha,” Percy deadpanned. “Depends where you want to go, really. It’s never too early to think about the future, so I’d recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they’re thinking of working in close contact with them — look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry.”

Harry grunted noncommittally, remembering Percy giving him much the same advice before. “Thanks, Perce.” The boy nodded, moving on. “Well, that was nonsense.” Ron raised a questioning eyebrow. “Divination is something you can do, or you can’t. Not everyone has the ability, and if you don’t, the class is a waste of time unless you want to spend the term predicting your own death. From what I understand, the professor for that is nuttier than most here.” Ron snickered. “It’s a lot of reading tea leaves and palms and crystal balls, but if you don’t have it, you don’t have it, and I wouldn’t waste my time trying to find out.”

“Your little notebook doesn’t seem to think much of Muggle Studies,” Hermione said, still flipping through it.

Harry shrugged. “Muggle Studies is a ‘soft option,’ yeah, but that’s because it’s about eighty years out of date. Hermione could be the professor for that right now.” The girl blushed brightly, and Harry spotted Neville listening in. “The class is taught by a pureblood who I don’t think has ever been in the Muggle world. There’s no mention of planes, barely anything on cars or trains, nothing on modern Muggle technology – most of which could out-do magic in a lot of ways.”

“Really?” Neville asked. “How?”

“Well, they’ve got methods of transportation that aren’t as fast as magical methods, but they usually don’t make you want to hurl,” Harry said, looking to Hermione. “You can explain the internet better than me.”

Hermione considered it. “All right, Neville. You know the library here.” Neville nodded. “And you know Flourish and Blotts.” Another nod. “And you know every other library on Earth.” Neville’s eyes widened slightly. “Now imagine you or anyone else could access all of them, whenever they wanted, from any properly equipped location.” Neville’s jaw dropped. “That’s the internet.”

Harry nodded. “They also have weapons that could blow up this entire castle with a single shot that can be fired from hundreds of kilometers away.” Neville and Ron paled. “I’m not sure if they could _target_ the castle, since Hogwarts is Unplottable and covered in wards, but the point stands. They have a world-wide mapping system that can tell you exactly where you are at any time, and they put a man on the moon about thirty years ago. None of which is covered in Muggle Studies.”

Ron made a noncommittal noise. “What about the other courses?”

Harry glanced down at the list. “Arithmancy gets called a maths class, but it deals with spell creation, the mechanics of spell-casting – it’s basically magical theory in its raw form. You want to create your own spells? Take Arithmancy. I understand Professor Vector is stricter than McGonagall, but she’s brilliant, got her Mastery in her twenties. There was a rumor Dumbledore had to arm-wrestle the headmaster of Beauxbatons to settle the argument over who got to hire her.” Neville snorted out a laugh. “There’s Ancient Runes, which is an incredibly complex subject, but it’s…hard to nail down, really.”

“How so?” Ron asked.

“Because there’s so much that can be done with it,” Hermione chimed in. Harry nodded in agreement. “If you know Runes, you can break curses, build wards, and do just about anything else you want to do with them if you’re creative enough.”

“She’s right,” Harry said. “They call it Ancient Runes, but they haven’t changed in a couple thousand years because they’re already refined so well. There’s a lot of raw power there, and almost unlimited applications. Anyone batty enough to be skilled in Runes and Arithmancy is not somebody you want to mess with.”

“And Care of Magical Creatures?” Ron asked.

“I don’t think that’s a course you need to take,” Harry replied. “After all, you wrestle dragons.”

“That’s true.”

“But it pretty much speaks for itself – hippogryffs, phoenixes, unicorns, if it’s a magical creature, the course will cover it. Kettleburn’s a bit short on limbs these days, but Hagrid’s supposed to be taking over at the end of this year.” Harry rubbed his chin. “I’m going to sign up for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Ancient Runes. If you don’t like the classes, you can always drop them.” He noticed Ron and Neville checking the courses he had just mentioned.

“I think I’ll sign up for all of them,” Hermione announced.

“Not doable,” Harry warned. “The strain of taking five extra courses could kill you.” He paused. “Wait, why would you take Muggle Studies anyway? You’re a Muggleborn!”

“But it’ll be fascinating to study Muggles from the wizarding point of view,” said Hermione earnestly.

Harry stared at her. “You did hear what I just said, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, you said that I could always drop them,” Hermione replied.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, before pausing. “Wow. I played myself. What about Divination?”

“Why shouldn’t I take it?” Hermione challenged.

“Because even McGonagall thinks its rubbish,” Harry replied. “And Flitwick, and Sprout, and Slughorn, _and everyone else on the staff, including Dumbledore_.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “Then why is it taught here?”

“Because some parents demand they keep teaching it,” Harry said. “Never underestimate the power of a parent who thinks their little angel is the next Seer of the century.” _And because Trelawney knows too much to be left unprotected. We’re just lucky Voldemort didn’t know it was her who made the prophecy, or he’d have taken her while he was here with Quirrell._

Hermione stared down at her list of possible courses. “You really think I shouldn’t take Muggle Studies or Divination?”

“ _I_ personally think they’re a waste of time,” Harry replied. “I’m not saying _you_ shouldn’t, but from what I know of you, you’d get more out of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.” He paused. “I’m guessing you’re taking Care of Magical Creatures regardless.”

“Of course,” she said.

“And taking five electives on top of the core classes…” Harry winced. “Not to say that you _couldn’t_ do it, but I don’t think it would be good for your mental state. That’s a lot of stress, especially for someone who pushes themselves as hard as you do.” Several moments passed as Harry calmly checked off his choices. “Look at it this way,” he said. “You could always learn it on your own.” Hermione finally relented and checked off Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures. Harry gave a mental cheer, remembering how stressed she had been during their third year.

—ML—

Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner, so that Harry barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. Granted, he had few other obligations, but the Boy-Who-Lived was also the Boy-Who-Enjoyed-A-Night-Off. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and Hufflepuff lacked the high-performance brooms that Slytherin had.

As the team gathered in the locker room, Oliver was grinning at them. “We’ve got this. Hufflepuff can’t beat us. We took the Cup last year, and we’ll take it this year too. Let’s show Ravenclaw what’s waiting for them in May.” The group did their pre-match “One-two-three-GRYFFINDOR!” shout, before walking onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics. Harry spotted Cedric Diggory among them and closed his eyes, trying to banish the image of the boy’s corpse from his mind. His eyes snapped open as he remembered that previously, Cedric hadn’t joined the Hufflepuff Quidditch team until his third year.

“All right, Harry?” Fred asked, nudging him.

Harry shook his head. “I’m fine.” He gave him a weak grin. “Just not looking forward to taking another cannonball to the chest.”

“We’ll cover you, don’t worry,” Fred chuckled. Harry mounted his broom, waiting patiently.

Madam Hooch’s whistle blew, and the players kicked off, Harry taking a moment to buzz past their captain while blowing a raspberry. Within thirty seconds, Angelina had scored Gryffindor’s first goal, whooping as she rolled into a victory loop.

Harry was orbiting high, Cedric on the opposite end of the pitch at a slightly lower altitude as they both searched for the Snitch. Harry was only half-listening to Lee Jordan’s commentary, but snapped out of his search when he heard the crowd roar.

“And Wood has just taken a Bludger to the shoulder, looks like he’s in a lot of pain…and yes, he’s calling for a time-out.” Hooch blew her whistle, and the players hit the ground a few moments later, Wood half-stepping, half-falling off his broom. George caught him before he hit the ground, letting him sink to his knees.

Oliver was speaking through gritted teeth. “I can still do this. I just need a numbing charm.”

“Ollie, your collarbone’s broken,” Fred was saying. “You can’t even lift that arm!”

“Watch me,” Oliver growled. Nothing happened. “See?”

“Your arm didn’t move,” Alicia pointed out.

Oliver sagged. “Bollocks. Girls, can you hold the Quaffle back until Harry can find the Snitch?”

Harry was scanning the stands, spotting a flash of red hair in one and waving furiously. “I think it’s time to tap in Ron.”

Katie didn’t seem convinced. “He’s not properly trained yet.”

“A half-trained Keeper’s better than none,” Angelina said.

“Ron can handle it,” George said.

“But-”

“Ron can do it,” Fred added firmly. “But don’t ever tell him we said that.”

George nodded sagely. “We have reputations to maintain.”

By this time, Ron was crossing the field. “Ollie’s out of the game,” Harry said. “Suit up.”

Ron’s eyes bugged out. “But-but I…”

“ _Suit up_ ,” Harry ordered. “We need a Keeper. Time to step up, mate.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Are you?” Harry challenged. “Gryffindor needs a Keeper. Are you it?”

Ron eyes hardened, and the boy straightened up. “You got it.”

“Looks like Wood’s out of the game,” Lee said from the stands. “And…yes, looks like Madam Hooch is signaling a change in the lineup!” A minute later, Ron soared out of the locker room on his Cleansweep, weaving slightly and looking distinctly green. He landed roughly, his face grim. “Gryffindor’s reserve Keeper, Ron Weasley, has joined the rest of the team on the field…the players are gathering around…and here we go!”

As Ron unsteadily took his post in front of the hoops, Harry flew by. “Make ‘em eat it!” he shouted encouragingly. Ron smiled faintly, taking a firmer grip on his broom. Harry spotted a glint of gold and took off, Cedric screaming into a dive towards the same target, but by the time they got there, the Snitch was gone. “Saw it too, eh?” Harry called. Cedric nodded. “Oh well.” The two split up, orbiting lazily around the pitch. Harry grinned as he saw Ron save three successive goals. The boy grimaced as one of the Hufflepuff Chasers managed to skim one by him, the Quaffle missing the tips of his glove by inches. The Gryffindor Chasers were flying their hearts out, trying to keep or take possession of the Quaffle as much as possible to keep the pressure off Ron. Harry winced as he saw Fred practically fling himself off his broom to knock a Bludger aimed at Ron off track with a crushing one-handed blow. The boy was glaring at the offending Hufflepuff Beater, chasing down the Bludger and smashing it back at its origin point.

Harry glanced away just as Katie scored again, bringing Gryffindor’s lead up to fifty-twenty. Cedric rolled casually on his broom, dodging a Bludger that had almost caught him from behind. The Hufflepuff glanced downwards, his eyes widening, and he threw himself into a dive, Harry following closely behind.

It was only when Cedric abruptly pulled out of his dive that Harry realized he had been suckered, and he hauled back on his broom, the tips of his trainers nearly skimming the grass as he narrowly avoided crashing. “And Potter has a close call – classic Wronski Feint there by Diggory, even I have to admit that was well done…”

Harry zipped past Cedric, shaking his head good-naturedly. “I deserved that!” He called.

“No hard feelings!” Cedric hollered back, grinning.

Harry ducked as Fred blew past, an angry shout ripping from his lips as he smashed the Bludger at a Hufflepuff Chaser. He reefed his broom around, spotting the Snitch zipping between the Hufflepuff goalposts and flattened himself against the Nimbus’s handle, the wind whipping at his hair as he hit top speed. His hand closed around the Snitch, and a moment later he stood the broom on its tail, abruptly reversing direction as he nearly plowed into the side of the pitch. Hooch’s whistle blew, announcing the end of the game, and the crowd roared. “Gryffindor wins, two hundred and forty to fifty!” Lee shouted.

Harry touched down easily, Cedric not far away. “You’re good,” Harry commented, offering his hand.

Cedric shook it easily. “So are you. I thought I had you with that Wronski.”

“You almost did!”

As the group changed out of their Quidditch robes, Harry noticed Fred and George closing in on either side of Ron. “Not bad for his first game,” one of them said idly.

“Rather good, considering he’s only half-trained,” the other replied. “Not a patch on Ollie, but he blocked more than he missed.”

“He keeps this up, we might have to admit we’re related to him,” the first said.

Harry couldn’t see Ron’s face, but his neck and ears were so red they were practically glowing. As the twins, Harry, and Ron began heading up to the Hospital Wing to see Oliver, the Chasers popped out of the girl’s side of the locker room. “Oi, Ron,” Angelina called. “You did good!”

Katie nodded. “We’re proud of you.” Ron was redder than his hair.

“I heard the shouting from up here,” Oliver said with a weak grin as they arrived. “How’d the kid do?”

“Saved nine, missed four,” Alicia reported. “And those four were _close_.”

Oliver smiled proudly. “Way to go, Ron. What was the score?”

“Two-forty to fifty,” Harry said. “How’s your arm?”

“Collarbone broken in two places, fractured humerus and three of his ribs,” Madam Pomfrey said, pushing past the Quidditch team. “As much as I wish this hadn’t happened, I must say it’s a nice change for it not to be you, Mister Potter.”

“Oh come on,” Harry protested. “I’ve only been in here twice! And for one of those, I wasn’t even injured!” He gestured at Oliver. “How long he going to be in here?”

Madam Pomfrey tapped the Keeper on the shoulder with her wand, the boy grunting as his bones knitted together. “About another twenty minutes. Mister Wood, I’m going to give you a bone-strengthening potion, and then you can leave, but you’re going to need to take it easy on that arm for a while. No Quidditch practice for a week.”

“Surely, you can’t-”

“Do not even _think_ the rest of that phrase,” she said firmly. “I absolutely _can_ be serious.”

“And don’t call her Shirley,” Harry added. “What?” He asked defensively as everyone stared at him. “You were all thinking it.”

—ML—

Harry broke away from the party, spotting Percy lurking in the corner. “Hey, Percy, I understand you’ve been very secretive lately. Heard you were spending a lot of time locked up in your room during the summer.”

The boy looked at him suspiciously. “What of it?”

“Well, you don’t seem stressed enough to be studying for your OWLs. So I’m guessing there’s a girl involved.” Percy turned pink. “Hey, I’m not teasing, I think it’s great. Who is she?”

After a moment Percy mumbled. “Penelope Clearwater.”

“Clearwater, Clearwater...Ravenclaw, right?” Percy nodded, and Harry grinned. “I should have figured a smart guy like you would go for a brainy girl.”

“Thanks,” the boy said, blushing furiously.

“If you’re happy, that’s what’s important,” Harry said. “Your secret’s safe with me. Just don’t forget to enjoy your family as well, you know?” He pushed a pasty into the boy’s hand. “Now come on. Celebrate with us.”

—ML—

Ironically, the end-of-year exams were the most stressful Harry had had yet, if only because he had usually been distracted from worrying too much about them by some other impending disaster. Lacking knowledge of what the exams were about for this year, he took the time to follow the study plans Hermione had somehow found the time to make up for them. In his private exams, Harry managed a passable Protean Charm, making Flitwick cheer as he pulled it off, and managed to animate a suit of armor for McGonagall while simultaneously transfiguring a marble into a live Bengal tiger.

With the year’s pressing business taken care of, Harry set about handling lesser issues. Taking another trip to the Room of Requirement, he shrank down the Vanishing Cabinet and passed it off to Dumbledore, who promised to procure the other half of the set and keep them properly locked away. He harassed Sirius via letters and the mirror his godfather had given him to ensure that he was properly registered as an Animagus, and sent a few letters to Gringotts to ensure that the company was on track. The goblins respected money and businesses that made money, and creating the two were sure ways to impress them.

On the last weekend in May, Harry was suiting up for the last Quidditch game of the season against Ravenclaw. “It’s all come down to this,” Wood was saying. “Ravenclaw absolutely flattened Hufflepuff and even beat Slytherin, although they had to work for their win. They’re good, but we beat both Slytherin and Hufflepuff, so we can beat them.”

“Provided you don’t break your arm again,” Fred added.

Wood scowled. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come on.” The Quidditch team took to the field, cheers from the spectators echoing across the pitch. Harry caught Cho’s eye, and the two nodded respectfully at each other.

Hooch’s whistle blew, and the players kicked off, one of the Ravenclaw Beaters nearly colliding with him as the boy went by. Harry spotted the Snitch almost immediately, and Cho swung onto his tail, her Comet Two Sixty doing its best to keep up with him.

Within moments, the Ravenclaw team’s plan to beat Gryffindor had become clear – take out Harry Potter. Both Beaters were doing their level best to knock Harry off his broom, and he repeatedly had to break off a dive for the Snitch to avoid taking a cannonball to the face. Cho was pacing him as best she could, matching his turns and cutting across his path whenever she could.

To their credit, the Ravenclaw Chasers were keeping the pressure on, Oliver clearly straining as he blocked shot after shot. The Gryffindor Chasers had managed to score twice, but the Ravenclaw defense had clearly paid attention during Gryffindor’s previous matches.

Harry pulled into a tight horizontal loop as another Bludger soared by, pausing just long enough to flash a rude gesture at the offending Beater as he was forced to break off another attempt to catch the Snitch. “Yoo-hoo!” Harry heard, glancing over to see Cho waving at him with a grin. The next Bludger almost caught him in the head, and Harry set his jaw.

“Want to play rough, then?” He growled, pulling his broom into a sharp climb. Cho sped along behind him despite the growing gap, and when Harry judged he had opened enough distance between them, he abruptly flipped his broom around, reversing his direction of flight and blowing past Cho at top speed. She nearly fell off her broomstick, and Harry blew through the tight formation the Ravenclaw Chasers were using, Angelina seizing the Quaffle as they scattered in his wake. Fred took the opportunity and bounced a well-aimed Bludger off one of the Ravenclaw Beaters’ heads. The boy didn’t fall off his broom, but he was shaking his head as Harry blew past, clearly disoriented.

Mindful of the sudden turn in the tide, Cho was keeping her distance, her smile gone and her head on a swivel as she searched for the Snitch. Harry caught sight of the tiny ball at the same time she did, and both took off in pursuit. Harry had the speed advantage, but Cho had been far closer to it than he was.

“Faster,” Harry urged, leaning flat against his broomstick, the wind whipping at his hair. “Come on…” Both of them had their hands outstretched for the Snitch, and Harry felt a searing pain in his knee as they collided. She cried out as they bounced off each other, losing control of her broom from the impact as Harry’s hand closed around the Snitch.

Harry glanced down just in time to see Cho fall from her broom, the crowd gasping. Dropping the Snitch and ignoring the throbbing in his leg, Harry dove, closing in on Cho as she plummeted earthward. He reached out, shouting her name as he grabbed her by the wrist. Her hand closed around his wrist, and Harry pulled up. His cry of pain as he felt his arm dislocate from the sudden jerk was drowned out by the roar from the crowd. He managed to hold on, and once they were low enough, Harry slowed his broom, setting Cho down gently.

Harry touched down gently, his knee throbbing, and gingerly dismounted, before his body kindly informed him it had had enough of his nonsense and he collapsed. Cho was the first to him, rolling him onto his back. “You saved my life,” she said tearfully. “Are you okay?”

“Let’s not do that again,” Harry groaned. “The ‘my saving your life’ part, not the ‘me beating your ass at Quidditch’ part.”

“You’re joking about this?” she asked in shock as the other Quidditch players landed next to them.

Harry shrugged his working shoulder. “Beats crying.”

“We won the Cup!” Oliver was shouting as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team entered the Hospital Wing ten minutes later. “You all right, Harry?”

“Nice to see you have your priorities in order,” Harry snarked. “My arm was dislocated and I’m pretty sure my knee’s broken. Is Cho all right?”

“Bruised, but she’s all right,” Madam Pomfrey said, the Ravenclaw waving gratefully from her bed. “More than we can say for you.”

“Come on, I picked up these injuries in the line of duty,” Harry protested. She numbed his shoulder, before tapping it with her wand, the joint popping back into place. “I’m sure glad I couldn’t feel that.”

—ML—

Harry and his friends spent most of the last few weeks of the year relaxing. Without the specter of the attacks hanging over the school, Ginny and Luna had had a very relaxing first year. Harry had double-checked through the year, making sure that Luna wasn’t being mistreated by her housemates. On the rare occasion an issue had arisen, a response had been made.

Harry was waiting for the result of the last one the afternoon before they were due to leave the school. He was standing in a side room on the fourth floor, double-checking the Marauder’s Map to ensure nobody was going to walk in as he leaned on a box.

Eventually, his agent appeared. “How was it?”

“Oh, Peevsie had funsies!” the poltergeist cackled. “Little Loony has-”

Harry turned a steely glare on Peeves. “ _Don’t call her that_.”

The poltergeist stared him down a moment, before shrugging. “She has Peeves looking out for her. The last one is regretting being rude to her, oh yes!”

Harry grinned. “Thrill me, Peeves. What’d you do?”

The poltergeist chortled some more. “I chased them around the castle, pitching balloons of ink at them!” Harry snickered. “And the ink changes colors!”

“Oh, bonus points,” Harry said. “Nicely done!”

“They ought to be a nice orange now,” Peeves said proudly.

“Well done,” Harry replied, patting the box he was leaning on. “As promised, another box of Dungbombs.” Harry turned to leave. “There’s another one of these in it for you for every term you look out for her.” He looked over his shoulder. “Oh, and Peeves?”

The poltergeist looked up from rifling through the crate. “Hm?”

Harry winked. “Have fun.”

—ML—

As expected, Gryffindor won the House Cup again, in large part due to Hermione’s performance in class and Snape no longer having the ability to take points. With his contract up, Remus had vacated the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Slughorn had agreed to stay on as Potions professor.

“So, Harry, any other issues?” Dumbledore asked the night before the students were due to leave.

Harry shrugged. “Nothing in particular. We’ve prevented most of the issues I had to deal with. The basilisk was handled, Sirius is already out of prison, and without Wormtail, Voldemort will have a lot more trouble trying to enter me in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“Crouch is still out there,” Dumbledore reminded him.

Harry nodded. “I know. But there’s nothing we can do about that just yet. He’ll turn up. Meanwhile, we’ve destroyed most of the Horcruxes and secured the only undetectable way into Hogwarts.” He scratched his chin. “The secret passageways that lead outside the grounds can be sealed off without too much trouble, although I don’t think they necessarily should be yet.” He dropped a book on Dumbledore’s desk. “I also retrieved this.”

Dumbledore picked the book up. “A Potions textbook?”

“That was Snape’s,” Harry said. “The modifications he makes to the Potions are incredibly useful, but some of the spells he has in written in the margins there are…dangerous.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Dangerous how.”

“Dangerous as in I nearly accidentally killed Draco Malfoy using one without knowing what it did,” Harry replied grimly. “In my defense, he was trying to use a Cruciatus on me, and I had used basic hexes and jinxes up to that point.” Dumbledore was giving Harry a hard look, and Harry met his eyes. “Albus, I was horrified when it happened. I don’t have it in me to use real Dark magic, not intentionally.”

“Have you ever used an Unforgivable?” Dumbledore asked bluntly.

“Have you?” Harry shot back.

“Yes.” Harry blinked in surprise, not having expected such an outright response. “I used the Imperius during the last war, while the Aurors were permitted their use. And you?”

“I used the Imperius repeatedly during the war,” Harry said. “We broke into Gringotts to recover the Hufflepuff Cup, and needed to coerce some assistance. They had been made legal.” He grimaced. “I also hit Bellatrix Lestrange with a Cruciatus at the Ministry when I was fifteen. She had killed Sirius, I was in a blind rage, and she barely even felt it. I also used a Cruciatus during the final battle at Hogwarts. I hit Amycus Carrow with it. He spat in McGonagall’s face.”

“And what was her reaction?” Dumbledore asked.

“She was more concerned that the most wanted man in Britain had strolled into Hogwarts and knocked out Voldemort’s chief enforcer at the school,” Harry replied. “At that point, the Unforgiveables were being _taught_ here.”

“I must admit, I am disappointed,” Dumbledore said.

“In my use of them?” Dumbledore nodded. “Albus, I won’t claim to be a perfect Light wizard. And I know you won’t either.”

“That’s the point,” Dumbledore said softly. “You were supposed to be better than me.”

“I never sacrificed anyone for the Greater Good,” Harry snapped. “I already am.” Dumbledore flinched. “Albus, I trusted you with my life, and you sent me on a suicide run against Voldemort. Forgive me if I don’t quite see you as the man I did before.” Harry tapped Snape’s copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. “To get back on topic, I felt this should be pulled out of the cupboard before some student found it and tried out one of the spells inside without thinking about it.”

Dumbledore slid the book into a drawer in his desk. “Probably for the best.”

Harry nodded. “I may have copied the alterations on the potions down.” He shrugged. “No sense in wasting the information.” Dumbledore still looked wary. “Look, I’m not interested in exploring Dark magic. I’ve seen where that leads.” He tweaked his own nose. “I like having my nose on my face.”

Dumbledore grunted. “I see. Anything else?”

“I had an idea,” Harry offered. “I’m not sure if it would work, and even if it did it might take a while, though. We can’t break into the Lestrange vault at Gringotts without inside help, and even then it’s more dangerous than we should risk. However, I remember that there were some goblin-made helmets in there. The goblins are rather interested in retrieving such items, and with Lestrange in Azkaban, they might be willing to repossess them. On top of that, I’m betting that the Lestrange family owes quite a bit in overdue service fees.” Harry gave Dumbledore a sly smile. “You think the goblins might be interested in auctioning off goods from their vault to pay for it?”

“That would be a rather tough deal to make,” Dumbledore mused. “The goblins pride themselves on discretion when it comes to such things.”

Harry shrugged. “It may not work. But it’s worth a shot. And if nothing else, if and when there’s a breakout from Azkaban, Bellatrix might be motivated to move the damned thing out of there.”

“You think there definitely will be a break-out, then?” Dumbledore asked.

“I think it’s only a matter of time,” Harry sighed. “I think that with the Dementors are waiting for someone to make them a better offer.”

“I agree. The Dementors only obey the Ministry because it is convenient.”

—ML—

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Ron said, and Harry’s wand jumped out of his hand. Ron caught it, and Harry nodded, acknowledging the point. “Still not as good as you, but I’m getting better at that!”

“You’ve got a better grasp on the Stunner and Impediment Jinx than me, though,” Harry replied.

“You two mind not doing that in here?” Neville asked.

“Oh, come on,” Harry protested. “A train compartment is the _perfect_ environment to practice dueling in.”

Neville rolled his eyes, casually Disarming both of them. “I suppose you’re right.”

Harry blinked in surprise, watching as Neville held out their wands for them. “You’ve come a long way from that shy kid I met on the train,” he remarked, flicking his wand at the boy’s trainers and tying his laces together.

“Any summer plans?” Hermione asked, looking up from her book. Harry vaguely recognized it as an Arithmancy primer and wondered how she’d gotten it.

“Sirius, Remus, and I were planning to visit Majorca at some point,” Harry said, casting a Leg-Locker at Ron. The boy blocked it, the spell dissipating against a Shield Charm. “Something about birdwatching. You?”

“Well, my parents had such a lovely time in France that they wanted to take me with them again,” Hermione replied. “I bet I’ll learn loads while I’m there.”

“We’re going to Egypt,” Ron added, casting a trick jinx Harry had taught him. Harry quickly seized hold of his trousers as they tried to drop to the floor. “Visiting my brother Bill.”

“I’m going to be mostly spending time with family,” Neville said, watching Ron and Harry goofing off.

“Well, we could all visit London at some point, hang out together,” Hermione ventured.

“That’d be nice,” Harry agreed, hitting Ron with a hex Remus had passed on to him. The redhead twitched violently as his boxers began to wriggle around. “We could do all the silly touristy things.”

“I’m in,” Ron chuckled, turning Harry’s hair red. “Oh, wow, that’s a good look for you. You look like we could be related.”

Ginny walked in and did a classic double-take at Harry’s new appearance. “Well, that’s a bit odd, but if you want to go red, that’s your choice.”

“Real funny,” Harry groused, jinxing Ron again. “Nev, you interested?”

“Send me an owl when you’re all back in town, I’ll be there,” Neville replied.

Ron coughed, before speaking in a deep, rolling bass. “Sounds good.” He grinned at Harry. “You better leave my voice like this. I sound great.”

Harry snorted, jinxing him again before returning his hair to its natural color. “Try it now.”

Ron cleared his throat. “What’d you do to my voishe?” He glared at his friend. “Really? A Schottish acshent?”

“Makes you sound distinguished,” Harry said.

“Shet my voishe back the way it should be!” Ron demanded.

“But you sound sho very, very, Shcottish,” Harry laughed.

“I will shtab you,” Ron threatened.

“With what? A shpear or a shword?” Harry taunted.

“ _Shtupefy_!” Nothing happened. “ _Expelliarmush_!” He glared at Harry. “ _Impedimenta_!” Harry found himself stuck in place as the jinx took effect. “Now fix thish.” When the spell wore off, Harry rolled his eyes, before flicking his wand at Ron and ending the jinx.

—ML—

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into King’s Cross, Harry spotted Sirius waiting casually on the platform. He grinned as he saw Harry, turning to speak to someone. Harry lost sight of him as the train moved down the platform, still braking to a halt.

“Don’t be strangers,” Harry said they exited the train, trunks in hand. “Sirius!” He pulled the Animagus into a tight hug.

“Harry, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He turned to the woman standing next to him. “This is my cousin.”

“Tonks,” Harry blurted out, glad to see her alive. She looked much the same as she had the first time they had met, with a pale heart-shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and a shock of short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet.

“Wotcher, Harry. How’d you know my name?”

Harry did what he did best – he bullshitted. “A few professors mentioned you. Said you had a habit of hexing anyone who called you by your first name.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you recognize me because of that?”

“I knew you were Sirius’s cousin, and he’s only got one that I know of that isn’t in Azkaban or a complete bitch,” Harry said. “Or both.”

“Well, there’s my mum,” Tonks said coolly.

“You’re too young to be Andromeda Tonks,” Harry replied.

“Am I?” She asked, before shifting into her mother’s appearance. “Are you sure about that?”

“You’re a Metamorphagus?” Harry asked. “That’s so cool!”

She shifted into his appearance. “That’s so cool!” She parroted in his voice. Harry reached out, tweaking the nipple of his doppelganger, and Tonks shifted back to her own form. “Oi! Watch it, kid.”

“Don’t play with fire if you can’t take the heat,” Harry said with a grin. “So, what brings you out here with me and the ex-con? Slumming?”

Tonks snorted. “No, Sirius has been working hard for the past few years-”

“That’s unlikely,” Harry muttered.

“To take his spot as Lord of the family,” Tonks went on as if he hadn’t said anything. “His mum disowned him when he ran away from home, and she also disowned my mum for marrying a Muggle.”

Harry nodded. “So he wants to bring you back into the family?”

Tonks shrugged. “It’s purely symbolic, my parents are comfortable where they are, but it’s a nice gesture.”

“Washing some of the stench off the Black name,” Sirius said. “Plus it’d really annoy my mother, and that’s always a good reason to do things. There have been all sorts of hearings and silly paperwork hoops to jump through, but it’s finally done.”

“So can you do anyone?” Harry asked, as Tonks shifted back to her normal form.

“Just about,” she said.

“You must save a fortune on haircuts,” Harry mused.

She snorted. “A bit, yeah. I’m rethinking the violet, though.”

“Maybe something in a bubblegum pink?” Harry offered.

Her eyes widened. “Ooh, there’s an idea.” With a moment’s thought, she shifted her hair color, and Harry grinned. “How do I look?”

“Brilliant,” Harry said. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Did you really start confusing students by pretending to be Dumbledore and asking them weird questions?”

Tonks laughed. “Dumbledore got in on it too! More than once there would be two Dumbledores talking to the same student.”

—ML—

“So, Harry,” Sirius began over dinner. The Tonks family was there, quietly celebrating the metaphorical middle finger Sirius had given to his family tradition, along with the numerous literal ones he had accumulated over the years. “What chaos did you cause this year?”

“Well, you must understand, I was limited in what I could do, with Remus there,” Harry replied. “And I couldn’t kill one of my professors again.”

Tonks paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “You killed a professor?”

“No, no,” Harry assured her. “I wouldn't do that. Not in front of all those witnesses, at any rate.” Strangely enough, Tonks didn’t look reassured by that comment. “Well, technically speaking, Voldemort killed him,” Harry said, ignoring the flinches. “Quirrell was possessed, and when the shade left his body, he didn’t survive.” He paused. “I _did_ get a professor sacked, though.” He grinned at Tonks. “Snape isn’t teaching there anymore.”

Tonks groaned. “Why couldn’t you have been there a few years sooner? I had to deal with that berk for my entire time at Hogwarts!”

“And I got rid of him in one year,” Harry said triumphantly. “This year, I located a legendary lost section of Hogwarts, set a poltergeist on bullies, killed a basilisk, and destroyed a possessed diary.”

Sirius was staring at him. “Hogwarts has gotten wilder since I left.”

Harry shrugged. “To be fair, most of those were related to one another. The diary forced Snape to open the Chamber of Secrets, which had a basilisk inside. Dumbledore and I killed it.” Harry grinned at Sirius. “Strictly speaking, Snape owes me his life now.”

Sirius looked deeply conflicted. “I don’t know whether I should be happy about that,” he admitted. “On the one hand, I don’t think it would be any great loss if he cacked it. On the other, I can’t think of a better way to irritate him than to make him owe his life to another Potter.”

“You said You-Know-Who was involved,” Tonks said. “I thought he was dead.”

“No, he's just mostly dead,” Harry explained.

“Mostly dead?” Tonks repeated. “What's the difference?”

“There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Now, mostly dead is slightly alive. Now, all dead...well, with all dead, there's usually only one thing that you can do,” Ted Tonks said, grinning.

“Go through his clothes and look for loose change,” Harry finished. “He’s out there. Weakened, badly so, but he’s not quite dead yet.”

“They still assigning loads of summer homework?” Andromeda asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yeah, but I’m done with most of it already,” Harry replied.

“Takes after his mum that way, I see,” Andromeda said lightly.

Sirius snorted. “Oh, my, yes. I once saw James putting the finishing touches on an essay as he was handing it in.”

Harry shook his head. “Truth be told, I’ve had Hermione hounding me about my schoolwork so often I just get it done early out of habit. Smartest witch in our year,” he explained, seeing questioning looks from the Tonks family. “Brilliant witch. Scary, too.” He looked to Sirius. “Nobody at Hogwarts would explain to this to me, so maybe you lot can – why exactly is it that there aren’t any maps given to first-years? I mean, you would think that they would have some sort of a guide or primer.”

“Oh, I actually learned about that one,” Andromeda chimed in. “The castle is…well, maps can be made of the interior, but occasionally it just…remodels itself.” Harry stared at her. “You haven’t noticed how some classrooms go missing? Every so often, an entire floor will just vanish, or wings will get shuffled around. They stopped making maps a few centuries back.”

Harry thought about that. “You know, I would bet we could do a lot of good and make some money with a book or a pamphlet or something for parents and new students about what to expect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. I wish I did, but I’m just playing in JK Rowling’s sandbox. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit’s being made.

“You know, this isn’t the kind of birdwatching I had expected,” Harry admitted, peering through the binoculars at the Majorcan beach.

“No, but it’s the far more fun kind,” Sirius replied, shamelessly ogling. “You figure she’s French?”

“Swedish or Norwegian, I’d guess,” Harry said. “Blonde, and with _that_ figure? Looks like she was built in a lab by some batty Germans.”

“You’re what, thirteen now?” Sirius asked, not looking away.

“Yup.”

“Consider this a birthday present. And something to make up for puberty.” He glanced over. “You got a rough time coming, kid.”

Harry snickered. “I’ve heard.”

“Oh, it’s loads of fun,” Sirius went on. “You’re gonna be randier than you’ve ever been, but uglier than you will ever be, your skin will be as oily as it’s ever going to get, your voice’ll crack twice per sentence, and this may not seem like much of a problem, but you _really_ are not going to have any control over your willy.”

“Er, Sirius?” Harry said. “I’ve already had The Talk. From several people, no less. I know what I’m in for.”

His godfather looked over in surprise. “From who?”

Harry set down the binoculars. “Well, let’s see. Remus, Dumbledore, Mister Granger, a couple of older kids at school, and you, although you were drunk at the time.”

Sirius paused. “Huh.” He shrugged. “All right then. Remus give you the list?”

Harry looked over. “Erogenous zones or protection charms? He gave me both.”

“Good man.”

—ML—

Harry groaned as he hefted his bag, carrying it up the stairs. “This doesn’t bode well for next year,” he said. “My books are going to be so heavy I might snap my spine.”

Sirius snorted. “Your dad and I used to bet on when Moony’s back would give out. Strangely enough, it never did.”

“Well, that’s probably for the best,” Harry said as he opened the door to their flat. “He’s an _auuugh_!”

“SURPRISE!”

Harry dropped his bag in shock, the heavy bag landing squarely on Sirius’s foot. The Animagus was hopping around in pain as their guests flooded forward, pulling both of them into hugs. “How did you guys get me twice now?”

“Look on the bright side,” Remus said warmly. “I haven’t been transfigured into a midget yet.” There was a moment of silence, before the man’s eyes widened as he realized what he had said. “Oh, _no_.” A half-second later, three separate spells hit him, and Remus found himself once again reduced in stature. “You are all terrible people.”

“Get to the loot!” Ron called, chucking Harry a package. “The cake’s not out of the oven yet.”

“You got back sooner than we expected!” Molly called from the kitchen.

“I thought you were still in Egypt,” Harry said, pulling Ron into a one-armed hug. “When did you get back?”

“Couple days ago,” Ron replied, giving him a grin. “All part of the plan.”

“I was in on it too,” Hermione added. “Granted it was easier for me to come back, a quick flight and Remus picked me up at the airport.” She patted the package in his hands. “Now open it!” Harry ripped open the package, finding a new bookbag inside. “It’s charmed feather-light, so you won’t break your back with your new textbooks.” Harry snickered, and Hermione frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just talking about that with Sirius,” Harry said, spotting the man still holding his foot. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that heavy!”

“This was the foot that big Belgian bloke stomped on!” Sirius growled.

Harry winced. “Ooh. Well, I suppose you could always use it as a maraca? And to be fair, you were hitting on that guy’s wife.”

“He was playing thirty-six holes of golf on the first day of their honeymoon! That marriage was never going to last!”

Remus rolled his eyes, flicking his wand at Sirius’s foot, and the man sighed contentedly as the appendage went numb. “Pansy,” the werewolf muttered.

“This one’s from me,” Hagrid said, handing Harry a package wrapped in brown paper. “Think yeh might find this dead useful for next year.”

Harry had the package half unwrapped when it snapped at him, and the Boy-Who-Lived dropped it, vaguely remembering that the Care of Magical Creatures textbook had been alive. The book scuttled out of the remaining wrapping paper, and Harry dropped to one knee, pinning the book to the ground. “You got me a biting book?” He said, ignoring the book’s struggle.

“It’s the textbook for yer Care o’ Magical Creatures class,” Hagrid explained. “If yeh want ter calm it down, just stroke it.” Harry ran a finger down the book’s spine, and the book shivered, before falling limp. “See?”

Harry stood up, subtly jinxing the book shut. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Hagrid.”

—ML—

Harry cracked an eye open as a ray of sunlight fell across his face, before groaning at the light shining in his eyes. He sat up, narrowly missing cracking his head on the coffee table, and looked around.

The party had gotten a touch out of hand, and as Harry looked around, he spotted Sirius half-draped over the couch, the man’s mouth open and a thin stream of drool trickling out the corner of his mouth onto the floor. Remus was curled up on top of the coffee table, still stuck as a midget, and Harry saw Hagrid dozing in a corner of the room.

“Any survivors?” Harry rasped.

“I think so,” Remus groaned, sitting up. “Tonks? You still here?”

The Metamorphagus came out of the kitchen, bright-eyed and chipper. “Morning!”

“Augh, she’s a morning person,” Harry grumbled.

“Have to be, Auror training,” she said. “I’ve got to get to it, actually, so I’ll be going. Happy Birthday, Harry. She leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek, before tossing a pinch of Floo powder in the fireplace and leaving.

Remus snickered at the luminescent blush on Harry’s face. “Got a crush?”

“I…no, shut up,” Harry retorted intelligently. “Why don’t _you_ date her?”

Remus raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I’m thirty-three, Harry. She’s twenty. That’s just…no. No thank you.”

Harry shrugged. “Give it a few years. Maybe she’ll be interested in you first.”

“Or maybe she’ll be interested in you,” Remus challenged.

Harry looked unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see.” He stood up, scratching at his hair. “Why aren’t you coming back to Hogwarts?”

“My contract was only for one year,” Remus explained. “I told Professor Dumbledore I’d consider returning in the future, but I was never intended to be a permanent professor.”

Harry grunted. “Fair enough.” There was a tapping at the window, and Harry spotted a tawny owl sitting on the windowsill. Harry took the letter it held, spotting the Hogwarts crest on the envelope. “If you’d like some water or a snack, there’s a tray over there,” he said, pointing at the kitchen sink. The owl ruffled its feathers, fluttering over to take a quick drink before leaving quietly.

“Textbook list?” Remus asked. “Or have they finally figured out you’re nothing but trouble?”

“Please,” Harry scoffed, glancing over the list and nodding. “That’s exactly why they keep me around. They know that as long as I’m at Hogwarts, the property damage can be contained.”

Remus chuckled, groaning as he held his head. “Oh, I need some tea.” Finding his wand, he undid the transfiguration on himself, before heading into the kitchen.

Harry glanced over at Sirius, noticing he was still asleep. Quietly retrieving a Dr Filibuster's firework from a drawer nearby, sticking it point-up into the back of Sirius’s trousers. Grabbing his wand from a nearby table, he prodded the firework, and it began to fizz and sputter.

Remus emerged with a cup of tea, spotting the firework immediately. “What exactly are you doing, Harry?”

“Causing a little mayhem,” Harry said calmly. Remus took a long sip from his mug and calmly watched as the firework went off, Sirius hopping to his feet as his trousers caught fire. “Good morning, Sirius!” Harry called as the man began dragging his toasted behind on the carpet, the firework streaming sparks around the room. “How’d you sleep?”

“Cheeky monster,” Sirius grumbled. “Why’d you wake me up?”

“Need you to sign this,” Harry said, flicking open the Hogsmeade permission form. “Permission to visit Hogsmeade.”

Sirius stared at him. “And right after sticking a firework in my pants, you expect me to sign this?”

“Are you telling me that _wasn’t_ funny?” Harry asked.

Sirius glared at him for a moment longer, before his mask cracked and he started laughing. “No, you got me. I’ll admit that that was pretty funny. Give it here.” He scratched a signature on the form, handing it back. “Well then, let’s get cleaned up and then we’ll go get your things, shall we?”

“What about him?” Remus asked, jerking a thumb at Hagrid.

Sirius shrugged. “Leave him some tea and a few biscuits. He’ll find his way home when he wakes up.”

—ML—

Harry was staring enviously at the Firebolt in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies when he heard his name being called. He turned around, a bushy-haired missile slamming into his midsection as Hermione wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Are you _sure_ they’re not dating?” Chloe said quietly to Sirius.

“Haven’t seen anything, but I’ve been wondering,” Sirius muttered back. “All the signs are there, you know?” He raised his voice. “Got your eye on something, Harry?”

“Right now, just trying to put them back in my head,” Harry said, coughing as his ribs ached from the impact. “Good lord, Hermione, you could have played rugby with a tackle like that.”

“Oh, hush,” she replied. “You’re my best friend. Get used to it.” She glanced inside the shop and her eyes widened at the sight of the Firebolt. “Wow. Looking at upgrading?”

Harry shrugged. “My Nimbus has served me faithfully, but…”

“But he’s a boy, so he sees something bigger and he wants it,” Alan finished.

Chloe rolled her eyes. “Says the man who wanted to buy a bigger television simply because it came out.”

“It’s a guy thing,” Alan argued. “You just don’t understand.”

“Oh, honey, I’ve made no secret of that,” Chloe chuckled. “But the mystery is part of the fun with you.” She planted a kiss on his cheek, Sirius grinning at the byplay.

“What are you – oh, my,” Sirius said as he looked through the window. “I didn’t realize the Firebolt was available yet.”

“Zero to one-fifty in ten seconds?” Alan asked. “Is that even safe?”

“No,” Hermione said flatly. “And for these lunatics, I think that’s part of the appeal.”

Harry gave her a scandalized look. “Hermione, please. We’re not lunatics. We prefer _fanatics_.” He gave the Firebolt one more longing look, before turning away. “Come on. We’ve got to get our books.”

Hermione had a skip in her step as they approached Flourish and Blotts, and Harry had to suppress a chuckle as she paused just inside the bookshop, a broad smile spreading across her face.

Harry fished out his book list, checking to see what they needed. Almost on cue, the manager came hurrying toward him.

“Hogwarts?” he said abruptly. “Come to get your new books?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “We need —”

“Get out of the way,” said the manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of the Monster Books’ cage.

“You telling me you don’t know how to deal with those things?” Harry asked.

“You do?” A look of enormous relief spread over the manager’s face as Harry nodded. “Thank heavens for that. I’ve been bitten five times already this morning. I swear, I’m never stocking these again. It’s been bedlam. How do you handle them?”

“Stroke the spines,” Harry advised. “Your supplier didn’t tell you? That’s…just irresponsible.”

The manager nodded, batting one of the books towards the edge of the cage and pacifying it with a stroke to the spine, before handing it to Hermione with a mumbled ‘good luck.’

The group left a few minutes later with their books in hand, both students stuffing their new books into their bags before heading to the apothecary for more potion ingredients. Sirius and Remus took Hermione’s parents to lunch while Hermione and Harry got measured for new robes, growth spurts having left their old ones several inches too short.

“I already sent Neville a letter about the book,” Harry said as Hermione’s bookbag began growling.

“Good idea,” she replied, lifting her arms obligingly as Madam Malkin measured her around the waist.

“Oh, my, you have lost some weight,” the woman clucked in surprise. “Been on holiday, have you?”

Hermione pinked slightly. “Can you tell?”

She smiled at her. “You’ve picked up quite a tan since I saw you last, dearie. Can’t do that ‘round these parts!” Harry snickered, and Hermione shrugged.

“Visited France with my parents,” she said finally. “Walking holiday.”

“Oh, lovely place,” Madam Malkin said, taking a final measurement and flicking her wand at a stand, which immediately began assembling the robes on a mannequin. “That’s you done, hop on down and have a seat while I take care of this boy.”

They regrouped at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry catching Tom’s eye and ordering food for Hermione and himself.

“So where’s Crookshanks?” Harry asked. “I figured he’d have de-moused this whole place by now.”

“He’s back at home,” Hermione said.

“Probably lounging in my chair again,” Alan groused.

“Oh, Alan,” Chloe said sweetly. “You don’t understand. That’s _his_ chair now. He just lets you sit in it sometimes.”

Harry snickered. “Yeah, once a cat moves in, it’s really their house.” He paused. “Crookshanks _is_ a cat, right? I’ve never quite been sure.”

“It’s either a very big cat or a small tiger,” Alan admitted. “I’m leaning towards ‘small tiger,’ but I’m honestly afraid to ask a veterinarian about him. But he’s murdered a few couches and may or may not have exploded a bird in our garden.”

“That's inconclusive,” Harry scoffed.

Alan shook his head. “It was a _pheasant_.”

“Getting conclusiver,” Harry muttered.

—ML—

Harry looked up from the Arithmancy textbook when he heard the knock at the door. Checking the enchanted one-way peephole, Harry spotted masses of red hair and opened the door. “Pizza delivery?”

Ron looked confused. “Er…no.” Wordlessly, Harry shut the door in his face. “Oi!” Harry opened it up again, laughing. “Yeah, real funny.”

“Come on it,” Harry said, letting the Weasleys into the flat.

Most of the Weasleys were greeted with hugs, but Percy held out his hand solemnly as though he and Harry had never met and said, “Harry. How nice to see you.”

“Hello, Percy,” said Harry, trying not to laugh.

“I hope you’re well?” said Percy pompously, shaking hands.

“Very well, thanks —”

“Harry!” said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. “Simply _splendid_ to see you, old boy —”

“Marvelous,” said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry’s hand in turn. “Absolutely spiffing.”

Percy scowled. “That’s enough, now,” said Mrs. Weasley.

“Mum!” said Fred, as though he’d only just spotted her and seizing her hand, too. “How really corking to see you —”

Harry managed to stop laughing long enough to speak. “What brings you here?”

“Well, we came to the Alley for their school things, and thought we might as well drop by and say hello,” Mrs. Weasley explained. “Do you have any plans for lunch?”

“There was some turkey in the coolbox that was begging to be made into a sandwich, but I suppose I could do that another day,” Harry replied. “Hey, Sirius! We’ve had a Weasley incursion!”

“Shoot to kill!” The call came back from Sirius’s bedroom.

“Get out here!” Arthur called. “We’re taking you to lunch!”

“Have you heard the news?” Mrs. Weasley asked, pointing to the brand-new silver badge on Percy’s chest. “Second Head Boy in the family!” she said, swelling with pride.

“And last,” Fred muttered under his breath.

“I don’t doubt that,” said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. “I notice they haven’t made you two prefects.”

“What do we want to be prefects for?” said George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life.” Ginny giggled.

“You want to set a better example for your sister!” snapped Mrs. Weasley.

“Ginny’s got other brothers to set her an example, Mother,” said Percy loftily.

“Yeah, how are Bill and Charlie, anyway?” Harry asked. Ron and Ginny burst out in giggles at the jab.

“Quite well, thank you,” Mrs. Weasley said primly.

“And really, Ron could be a prefect,” Harry said. “I mean, with all the Gryffindor boys in our year, Ron’s the only respectable one.”

“What do you mean, respectable?” George asked, scandalized. “Ron?”

Harry looked confused. “Haven’t you heard? He wrestles dragons.”

“Oh, _that_ ,” George said. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. You’d want a boy like that as prefect, just in case.”

—ML—

“It’s ten-forty,” Harry said, glancing out the window of the train. “You think they had to go back?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Hermione replied. “They’ve got five kids at Hogwarts now, so it’s probably chaos trying to get ready.”

Harry shrugged. “Wait, there they are.” The two dismounted from the train, leaving Crookshanks, Hedwig, and Neville behind to hold the compartment for them. Percy and Ginny had appeared on the platform, having taken the barrier at a run.

“Ah, there’s Penelope!” Percy said, smoothing his hair and going pink again. Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and they both turned away to hide their laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn’t miss his shiny badge.

“Come on, we’ve got a compartment,” Harry said. Fred and George headed up the train, and Ron and Ginny followed Harry and Hermione back to their compartment, finding Luna chatting with Neville.

“Oh, hello,” Neville said as they entered. “We were just talking about who might fill the Defense Against the Dark Arts post this year.”

Harry paused, realizing he had no idea. “That’s a good question.”

“Any inside information?” Neville asked, giving him a wary look. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Harry, everyone knows you’re close with Dumbledore. You knew about Snape, about Slughorn, it stands to reason you’d know about whoever our new professor is going to be.”

“No idea,” Harry said truthfully. “Dumbledore didn’t tell me.”

“Did you get your Hogsmeade form signed?” Ginny asked. “Ron did.”

Harry nodded. “Do you know much about Hogsmeade?” Hermione asked keenly. “I’ve read it’s the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain —”

“Yeah, I think it is,” said Ron in an offhand sort of way. “But that’s not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked.

“Spread the word,” Harry said to Ginny and Luna as the two prattled on about different subjects. “If any firsties or second-years want something from Honeydukes or elsewhere in Hogsmeade, I’m taking orders.”

“So, Harry, what’s going to go horribly wrong on Halloween this year?” Ron asked. “I mean ,we’ve had trolls, basilisk attacks, now what?”

“Nothing,” Harry said firmly. “I’m calling it right now. Nothing is going to go wrong this year!”

“He said, knowing that we have Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures,” Hermione commented. Harry paled slightly. “At least we have Ron on hand.”

“And Neville,” Ginny added. “Ron can wrestle the animals, but if anything plant-related becomes a problem, Neville can take it.” The blond boy blushed, and Ginny winked at him.

The group was joking, laughing, and talking about the upcoming year when the plump witch who ran the food trolley arrived at their compartment. Harry immediately snagged a bit of everything, passing it out among his friends, nodding thankfully to the witch as she moved on down the train.

As the afternoon wore on, it started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window. Harry heard footsteps outside the compartment again, and he perked up. “I sense an asshole approaching.” He paused as the footsteps outside the door stopped. “No, _multiple_ assholes.” The door slid open to reveal Malfoy and his cronies. “Called it!”

“Well, look who it is,” said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. “Potty and the Weasel.” Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

“Really, Malfoy?” Harry asked. “Can’t even come up with an insult that takes some effort?”

“I heard your father finally got a real job and got his hands on some gold, Weasley,” Malfoy said, ignoring Harry. “Did your mother die of shock?”

“No, but she almost did when she found out both your parents were human,” Ron replied, getting to his feet. Malfoy glowered at him. “And didn’t your dad get spanked by a house-elf? You looking to one-up him?”

“That was after I rang his chimes pretty good,” Harry added, standing up in case he needed to stop Ron. “Really, Malfoy, this obsession of yours has got to stop. Remember that you’re running out of connections. Snape isn’t a teacher, and your daddy isn’t on the Board of Governors anymore. Who are you going to go cry to?”

Malfoy’s hand moved towards his wand. “You little-”

“Before you do something really stupid,” Harry warned, “Remember that it’s three against six. Your rent-boys here might not be able to count that high, but I know you can.”

“Two second-years, a disgrace of a wizard, and a Mudblood?” Malfoy asked scornfully. Whatever he was about to say died in a strangled squeak as Harry seized him by the front of his robes, his wand jabbing up under his chin. In a flash, Ron, Hermione, and Neville had their wands leveled at Crabbe and Goyle.

“You use that word in my presence one more time and I _will_ cut your tongue out and use it for a pen-wiper,” Harry hissed. “You’re on thin ice, Malfoy. Get out before I throw you off this train.” He shoved the boy back into his cronies.

“That does it,” Malfoy snapped, shoving his hand into his pocket and pulling out a banana. He paused, looking at it. “Wait, what?”

“Lose something?” Harry asked lightly. “What are you going to do with that thing, make a smoothie?”

“C’mon,” Malfoy muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.

Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles. “I’m not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year,” he said angrily. “I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and —” Ron made a violent gesture in midair.

“It’s actually really hard to break someone’s neck,” Harry warned him. “Much more efficient to just crush his throat. Gives him time to think about what he’s done.” He paused when he realized the others were staring at him in horror. “What? I read it in a book!”

“You shouldn’t have done that, Harry,” Hermione said disapprovingly. “He could get you in a lot of trouble.”

Harry waved her off. “Let him try. Ponce doesn’t have the faintest idea of what he’s up against.” His face brightened, and he held up Malfoy’s wand. “Besides, I stole his wand.”

—ML—

The year was already an improvement, Harry thought as they disembarked from the train. No dementors, no worrying about a fugitive trying to kill him, and he had already embarrassed Malfoy. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets, and Hermione flicked her wand, muttering ‘ _Impervius_ ,’ at her friends. They gave her grateful looks as the rain stopped soaking through their clothing.

“Firs’ years this way!” called a familiar voice. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake. “All right, you three?” Hagrid yelled over the heads of the crowd.

They waved at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the mass of people around them was shunting them away along the platform. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the school along the platform and out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the remaining students, each pulled by a thestral.

“Ooh, thestrals,” Luna said gleefully. Harry winced, having forgotten she could see them as well.

“What? Thestrals?” Ron asked, looking around. “What are those?”

“Magical creatures,” Harry said softly. “Be glad you can’t see them.” Hermione gave a soft “Oh!” of comprehension at Harry’s shoulder.

“Why can’t I see them?” Ron asked indignantly.

“The only people who can see Thestrals,” Hermione said, “are people who have seen death.” Ron flinched.

Harry nodded. “Come on. Let’s go.”

When they reached the castle, Harry took no small amount of pleasure in listening to the Sorting Hat’s song and watching the new students be Sorted. He glanced up at the Head Table, spotting a single figure he didn’t recognize wearing a hooded cloak.

As Professor McGonagall carried the Hat and the stool out of the hall, Dumbledore stood up, beaming at the students. “Welcome, everyone, to another year at Hogwarts! Before we become too befuddled by our excellent feast, a few items of notice! First of all, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. Professor Hagrid, who worked with him last year, has agreed to take on the full position.” There was a hefty amount of applause, particularly at the Gryffindor table. “And secondly, Professor Lupin declined to stay on for another year as our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” a groan went up, “but he did recommend a replacement. So please, join me in welcoming our newest staff member, Professor Black!”

Harry’s shocked squawk of “ _What?_ ” went unheard amongst the applause, and Sirius pulled the hood of his cloak back, waving out at the students.

“You didn’t know?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. “I had no idea!”

“Well, that should be everything of importance,” Dumbledore said. “Let the feast begin!”

—ML—

“So what’s first on the schedule?” Harry asked the next day.

“Looks like Arithmancy,” Hermione said. “Pass the marmalade.”

“And we’ve got Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon,” Ron added, passing the pot over.

“Don’t have Ancient Runes until Thursday, though,” Hermione commented, smearing some on her toast. “Have you two done any reading yet?”

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron protested. “Not all of us read our textbooks…ahead…of…” He trailed off as he looked at Harry. “You did, didn’t you.”

“Only a little,” Harry said. “I was trying to find out how to spell ‘suck it, Malfoy,’ in runes.” Ginny accidentally inhaled her porridge and began coughing. “I may have wound up writing out ‘I want new sandals,’ instead, though.”

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. “All righ’?” he said eagerly, pausing on his way to the staff table. “Yer in my firs’ ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five getting’ everthin’ ready… hope it’s okay… me, a teacher… hones’ly…”

“Hagrid, you’ve taught before,” Harry pointed out.

“But that was with Kettleburn,” Hagrid countered. “Now, it’s jus’ me. See yeh after lunch!”

“Wonder what he’s been getting ready?” Ron asked, apprehensive.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Harry said confidently, finishing his eggs. “Come on, we’ll be late for Arithmancy.”

—ML—

“I didn’t understand a single word Professor Vector said,” Ron grumbled. “I know she was speaking English, but I refuse to believe that made any sense.”

“You’ll get it,” Harry said encouragingly. “I read ahead a bit, and I only understood every third word. We’ll get there.”

“How was Divination?” Harry asked Dean as they entered Transfiguration.

“A bit…odd,” Dean admitted. “Not really sure what to make of Trelawney.”

Harry shrugged. “Told you she was bonkers.”

“She seems to think you’re going to die, and need to be warned,” Dean pointed out.

“Again, she’s bonkers,” Harry repeated.

“Harry,” Parvati said urgently, crouching next to him. “You’re in danger.”

“Am I?” Harry asked innocently.

“Professor Trelawney – she saw – you need to be careful,” Parvati blurted out.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And did she see how I was going to die?”

“No, but you need to be-”

“Careful, I know,” Harry finished. “Let me put a question to you. If I’m nervous about my upcoming death, would I not be more careful and risk making a mistake that could very well lead to my death?” Parvati stared at him in confusion. “If I’m paranoid and jumping at everything, I could easily mess up and get hurt.” Harry shrugged. “If I’m going to die, I’m going to die. My being worried about it won’t change anything. I wouldn’t go quietly, but I’m not going to waste the effort worrying about something I have no way of preventing.”

Parvati was still trying to process what he had said when McGonagall began speaking, and she hurriedly dropped into a seat. The rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. He ignored them, paying attention to what Professor McGonagall was telling them about Animagi, but seemed to be one of the only ones looking when she transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.

“Really, what has got into you all today?” said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint _pop_ , and staring around at them all. “Not that it matters, but that’s the first time my transformation’s not got applause from a class.”

Everybody’s heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Harry raised his hand. “Most of them just came from their first Divination class.”

“Ah, of course,” said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. “Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?”

“Me, apparently,” Harry said.

“You don’t seem bothered by it,” McGonagall commented.

“I’ve realized I lead sort of a high-risk life,” Harry admitted. “It probably should bother me more than it does.”

“I see,” said Professor McGonagall, clearly fighting a smile. “Then you should all know that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I have very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney…” She stopped for a moment, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.” Harry snickered, and some of the tension in the class dissipated.

Lavender whispered, “But what about Seamus’s cup?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You ever heard of a self-fulfilling prophecy?”

When the Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch. “Nobody’s told the Slytherins about the books, right?” Harry asked quietly. The Gryffindors shook their heads. “Good.”

“You given Malfoy back his wand yet?” Ron asked with a grin.

“I passed it off to McGonagall last night and explained what happened,” Harry replied. “She had him first this morning.”

“That must have been interesting,” Neville said. “Too bad we missed that.”

The sky was a clear, pale gray and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as they set off for their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class.

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in his moleskin overcoat, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” he called as the class approached. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!” The hippogriff paddock was just as Harry remembered it. “Everyone gather ‘round the fence here!” he called. “That’s it — make sure yeh can see — now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books —”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “How?”

“Eh?” said Hagrid.

“How do we open our books?” Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , which he had bound shut with a length of rope.

“What, you couldn’t figure it out?” Harry asked, opening his own book calmly.

“Shut it, Potter,” Malfoy hissed.

“Got to try a little tenderness,” Harry sing-songed.

“Yeh’ve got ter _stroke_ ‘em,” said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Look —” He took Malfoy’s copy and ripped off the rope that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant forefinger down its spine, and the book shivered, and then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

“Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” Malfoy sneered. “We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!”

“Or, you know, _ask_ the bloke at Flourish and Blotts, since he knew how to calm them,” Harry stage-whispered. Malfoy pinked slightly as titters ran through the students. “Instead of thinking you knew better than him.”

“Right then!” Hagrid said. “Got yer books, now yeh need the Magical Creatures! Wait here.”

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” said Malfoy loudly as Hagrid strode out of sight. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him —”

“Goody for your father,” Harry called. “What’s he going to do? Have another house-elf beat him?”

Malfoy was reaching for his wand again when Lavender squealed, pointing at the opposite side of the paddock.

“Wow,” Harry said softly. “Hippogriffs.”

“Gee up, there!” Hagrid called, shaking the chains and urging the creatures toward the fence where the class stood. Everyone drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence. “Hippogriffs!” he roared happily, waving a hand at them. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

“They are impressive,” Hermione admitted.

“So,” said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around, “if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer…” Harry strode forward casually, the others slowly trailing him. “Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is, they’re proud,” said Hagrid. “Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.” Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle weren’t listening, and Harry carefully turned away, sending a trio of wandless stinging hexes at each rear end. All three jumped and yelped.

“Questions, Malfoy?” Hagrid asked.

“I…no,” Malfoy replied.

“Good. As I was sayin’, yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an’ yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch him. If he doesn’ bow, then get away from him sharpish, ‘cause those talons hurt.”

“I can imagine,” Harry muttered, looking at Buckbeak’s talons. Each was a half-foot long and looked deadly.

“Right — who wants ter go first?” Most of the class backed farther away in answer.

“I’ll do it,” Harry offered.

There was an intake of breath from behind him, and Parvati whispered, “Oooh, no, Harry, remember what Trelawney said!” as Harry climbed over the paddock fence.

“Good man, Harry!” roared Hagrid. “Right then — let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.” He untied one of the chains, pulled the gray Hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed maliciously.

“Easy now, Harry,” said Hagrid quietly. “Yeh’ve got eye contact, now try not ter blink… Hippogriffs don’ trust yeh if yeh blink too much…”

Harry maintained eye contact, even as Buckbeak turned his great, sharp head and stared at Harry with one fierce orange eye. “Tha’s it,” said Hagrid. “Tha’s it, Harry… now, bow.”

Harry bowed calmly. “Like this?”

“Jus’ like that,” Hagrid said. The Hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn’t move. “Ah,” said Hagrid, sounding worried. “Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it —”

“Wait,” Harry urged. Buckbeak bent his scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.

“Well done, Harry!” said Hagrid, ecstatic. “Right — yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!”

Harry raised his arms slowly, before calmly walking towards Buckbeak. “You mind a pat or two?” He asked. Buckbeak clicked his beak in response, bending his head slightly. Harry patted the beak several times and the Hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it. The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were looking deeply disappointed. Harry scratched him under the chin, and Buckbeak chuttered.

“Righ’ then, Harry,” said Hagrid. “I reckon he migh’ let yeh ride him!”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “How do I get on? I’d rather not pull his feathers.”

“Yeh climb up there, jus’ behind the wing joint,” said Hagrid.

“You mind giving me a ride?” Harry asked. Buckbeak knelt at the knees, and Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak’s wing and hoisted himself onto its back. Buckbeak stood up. “My goodness, you’re a big one,” Harry grunted, shifting on the hippogriff’s back and trying to pretend Buckbeak’s spine wasn’t bruising anything important.

“Go on, then!” roared Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriffs hindquarters. Harry grabbed hold of the hippogriff’s neck as Buckbeak spread his wings, and they were soaring upward. Harry had never ridden a horse before, but he imagined it was vaguely similar to the motion of a hippogriff – the wings of course were an addition, but the rocking backward and forward as the hindquarters of the Hippogriff rose and fell with its wings seemed similar enough.

“You’re amazing!” Harry shouted to the Hippogriff as they circled the paddock. “Let’s bring it in, give the others a chance!”

Buckbeak headed back to the ground, and Harry leaned back as the smooth neck lowered, feeling he was going to slip off over the beak, then felt a heavy thud as the four ill-assorted feet hit the ground. He just managed to hold on and push himself straight again. Dismounting, he patted Buckbeak on the head, the hippogriff chuttering happily at him.

“Good work, Harry!” roared Hagrid as everyone except Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle cheered. “Okay, who else wants a go?”

Emboldened by Harry’s success, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Hagrid untied the Hippogriffs one by one, and soon people were bowing nervously, all over the paddock. Neville ran repeatedly backward from his, which didn’t seem to want to bend its knees. Ron and Hermione practiced on the chestnut, while Harry watched, keeping close to Malfoy, who had taken over Buckbeak with Crabbe and Goyle. He had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful.

“This is very easy,” Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Harry to hear him. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it…I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he said to the Hippogriff, and Harry began moving closer. “Are you, you great ugly brute?”

The hippogriff reared, and Harry dove forward, tackling Malfoy out of the way as Buckbeak swiped at him. Hagrid seized Buckbeak, wrestling him back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay pinned under Harry, a shield blossoming into being between them and the hippogriff.

“Everyone all right?” Hagrid hollered. The other hippogriffs were watching warily, and most of the students had backed away.

“He’s fine,” Harry snapped, holding Malfoy down with his forearm. “You idiot, you could have been killed! Weren’t you listening?”

“Geroff me!” Malfoy shoved him away. “That bloody beast could have killed me!”

“It’s not his fault you weren’t listening!” Harry shouted, dropping the shield and shoving Malfoy back. “What part of ‘never insult one’ didn’t you get, you jackass?”

“Enough!” Hagrid shouted. “Malfoy, he’s right. Yeh shouldn’t have insulted him. I warned yeh – right proud creatures, hippogriffs. Harry just saved your life.”

Malfoy glared at Harry, who was looking at him disdainfully. “You’re welcome,” Harry said, clearly not meaning it. “Next time, pay attention. I might not be there to save your worthless hide.”

—ML—

That evening, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were knocking on Hagrid’s door, finding the half-giant inside with his head in his hands. “That boy coulda died,” he was mumbling.

“No he wouldn’t,” Harry insisted. “I’ve seen how fast you are, Hagrid. You were right there. At worst, Malfoy would have gotten injured and Madam Pomfrey would have fixed him up immediately. Nobody got hurt.” He spotted a line of blood-stained bandages poking out of Hagrid’s sleeve. “Wait, did _you_ get hurt?”

“Ah, Buckbeak clipped me when I was pullin’ ‘im back into the collar,” Hagrid said, tugging at his sleeve to cover up the bandages. “He didn’ mean nothin’ by it.”

“You should get that checked out,” Hermione urged. “It might get infected!”

“Did you clean the wound?” Harry asked. Hagrid nodded. “You changing the dressing regularly?” Another nod. “Go to Pomfrey anyway. She might be able to speed up the healing, but you should be all right.”

“I’m not worried ‘bout me,” Hagrid protested. “I’m just worried about Buckbeak. The school gov’nors prolly bin told by now.”

“And you’ve got a class full of witnesses to how quickly you reacted when a student ignored your warning on how to stay safe,” Harry pointed out. “Malfoy nearly got himself killed, that’s not on you or Buckbeak. You said Hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s problem that he wasn’t listening.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll back you up,” said Ron.

Tears leaked out of the crinkled corners of Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes. He grabbed both Harry and Ron and pulled them into a bone-breaking hug.

“Hey, Hagrid?” Harry asked as he let them down. “You’ve been here a while. Where’d the Giant Squid come from?”

“I brought it here,” Hagrid admitted. “Dumbledore jus’ said ter put it in the lake.”

“Lord, what is with this place…”

—ML—

When Thursday rolled around, Harry and his friends descended to the dungeons for double Potions with the Slytherins. Harry took a moment to wonder why Dumbledore had insisted on assigning the two Houses that hated each other the most to share the class with the least impartial professor in the school so many times. Malfoy was glaring at him, clearly still livid over his embarrassment during Care of Magical Creatures.

“Seen your pal Hagrid lately?” he asked.

“Clearly more than you, or I wouldn’t have had to save your life,” Harry remarked.

“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,” said Malfoy in a tone of mock sorrow. “Father’s not very happy about my near-death experience —”

“He upset I saved your stupid ass?” Harry asked pleasantly.

Malfoy’s face twitched, but he pressed on. “– he’s complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father’s got a lot of influence, you know.”

“Yeah, gobbing off the Minister will do that,” Harry replied. “Really, Malfoy, you ignored what he said and nearly got yourself hurt. Everyone saw it. You want to brag about that?”

“What’s going on here?” Slughorn asked, appearing at their table. Malfoy glared at Harry. “Something the matter, boys?”

“Oh, just explaining to Malfoy that his not listening to safety warnings in class doesn’t mean that the professor is responsible for what happens to him,” Harry explained, tossing the ingredients he needed into his cauldron without looking. “I had to keep him from getting hurt in Care of Magical Creatures because he insulted a hippogriff after being warned not to.”

“I see,” Slughorn said. “Proud creatures, hippogriffs. You should have paid closer attention, Malfoy.” Harry and Ron smiled sweetly at the Slytherin as Slughorn moved on, the professor pausing long enough to warn Seamus about a mistake he was about to make with his potion.

Having only had one year with Slughorn, most of which he spent worrying about Malfoy’s extracurricular activities, Harry was amazed at the difference in their teaching styles. While Snape preferred to leave the instructions up on the board and spend the class period hovering and making disparaging remarks, Slughorn kept on the move, calling out tips and tricks for better potion-making and stopping students when they were about to make a mistake.

“All right!” Slughorn called. “Let’s see what we’ve got going on…is everyone done mixing their Shrinking Solutions? Anyone need more time?” Nobody answered. “Good! Would anyone like to volunteer their potion for a test?” Hermione went to raise her hand, and Harry caught it, shaking his head minutely. Neville hesitantly raised his hand, and Slughorn’s face brightened. “Good man, Longbottom!” He flicked his wand at Neville’s cauldron, and opened a small cage on his desk, carefully pulling a butterfly out as the cauldron settled on his desk. “Now, if Longbottom’s got this right…”

“Unlikely,” Malfoy muttered, the Slytherins tittering as Neville flushed.

“This butterfly will become a caterpillar,” Slughorn went on, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy. The students fell silent. Slughorn picked up a spoonful of the solution and gently brought the butterfly to the spoon, the bug flapping its wings for a moment as it sampled the potion.

There was a moment’s pause, and a small _pop_ could be heard, before a caterpillar was wriggling over Slughorn’s fingers. “Well done!” Slughorn boomed as the Gryffindors applauded, Neville’s eyes bugging out. “Well done, Longbottom, well done indeed! Five points to Gryffindor!”

As they headed up for lunch, the other Gryffindors were still congratulating Neville. “I suppose that’s one, Longbottom,” Malfoy sneered. “Slughorn probably took pity on you.”

They ignored him, and after lunch they were heading up to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. “Nervous, Harry?” Ron asked.

“A little,” Harry admitted. “I’m honestly surprised Dumbledore would be willing to let Sirius teach.” He paused. “But then, considering he let Quirrell and Snape teach, I shouldn’t be shocked.”

“I’m sure Sirius would be a better teacher,” Hermione said.

“Oh, he’ll be a better teacher, undoubtedly,” Harry replied as they entered the classroom. “But Sirius enjoys chaos and mischief. Not something you want in a professor.”

“I resent that,” Sirius said from behind him. Harry jumped, and Sirius patted him on the shoulder. “Relax. I got this.”

“That’s what worries me,” Harry muttered.

“Good afternoon,” Sirius said as the bell rang. “My name is Sirius Black. I’m your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. First things first – I happen to enjoy a good joke, but if I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it immediately. I won’t put you in danger, but I expect you to pay attention. Understood?” Nobody answered, and Sirius stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling sharply. “ _Understood?_ ” There was a chorus of agreements, and he nodded, clapping his hands together. “Much better! There’s a lot of bad out there, so let’s learn how to kick it in the pills, yeah?” A few of the students were grinning. “Right then! A little background – I fought in the last war against You-Know-Who. I did face him down personally at one point, although I wasn’t alone and it’s not an experience I have any interest in repeating or recounting. I understand Professor Lupin gave you a rundown on creatures last year?”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said.

“Good.” Sirius rubbed his chin. “Very good.” He opened a drawer on his desk. “This,” he said, pulling out a small package, “is a wand holster. You’re third-years, and you’ll probably have noticed that shoving an eleven-inch object in your trouser pocket isn’t entirely practical.”

“Barely fits in my pants on a good day,” Harry remarked. “I…oh, wait, you’re talking about the wooden wand.” Snickering went around the class.

Sirius remained stonefaced. “That was your free one, kid. Next time, I use you as a practice dummy during the demonstration period.” More snickering went up. “Anyway! Most of you wouldn’t need a wand holster, it’s typically something Aurors use. For most people, the pocket of your robes will do just fine. However, this particular holster will go to whoever performs the best in class today. Any questions so far?” Harry raised a hand. “Harry?”

“What’s the capital of Bulgaria?”

“Five points to Gryffindor,” Sirius replied. Silence reigned. “Like I said, I appreciate a good joke. Cheek Is not a problem in class. When fighting Dark wizards, I’ve developed a simple system – insult the bad guy, then set him on fire. Sassing a Dark wizard might get you killed, but he’s going to try to off you anyway, and they aren’t used to people making fun of them. Anyway! Let’s get to work. Books away, we’re going to be having a practical lesson today. Bring your bags, I’m not sure how much time we’ll have after.”

He led them to the staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Slughorn was sitting in a low armchair, reading a newspaper, and folded it as he saw them enter. “Ah, Sirius. Going to handle that wardrobe today?”

“Practical lesson, Horace,” Sirius replied. “Care to watch?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Slughorn said warmly. “I’ll just stand off to the side.”

“Those of you who don’t know, Professor Slughorn is a deft hand at Defense Against the Dark Arts as well,” Sirius said. “Although he’s smarter than I am – he prefers to stay out of the line of fire.” Titters ran through the students. “You have to be a little bonkers to fight Dark wizards.” Slughorn was chuckling. “Anyway. Observe yonder wardrobe.” Sirius went to stand next to it, and the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. “There’s a Boggart inside. Every decade or so one pops up in the castle. Now, who can tell me about Boggarts?” Multiple hands went up, and Sirius’s eyebrows raised. “Oh good, more than one volunteer. Hermione?”

“They’re shape-shifters,” Hermione said. “Whatever’ll frighten you most, they’ll turn into.”

“Precisely,” Sirius replied. “Seamus? Anything to add?”

“They like dark, enclosed spaces,” Seamus said. “Wardrobes, underneath beds, sink cupboards.”

“Excellent. I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. _This_ one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. Now, the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.”

A large number of the students seemed uncertain. “Now, there are a few things you need to know about Boggarts. First off, they don’t exactly exist as we do. They aren’t truly alive, like Peeves back there, or Dementors. They can be made to disappear, but more will inevitably arise to replace them. They’re generated and sustained by human emotions. That’s the bad news. The good news is, they don’t have the same strength or magic as what they imitate. For example, if someone’s worst fear was a Banshee, its scream wouldn’t slaughter everyone in here. Not that the screaming wouldn’t be horribly annoying, but having been screeched at a lot in my life, I can tell you it won’t kill you.” Some of the tension dissipated as the class laughed.

“Now, we do have a key advantage over the Boggart,” Sirius went on. “Has anyone spotted it?”

“Strength in numbers,” Harry called. “With so many of us to scare, it won’t know what shape it should be.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Sirius said, pointing at him. “Remember that. It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a Boggart. It becomes confused. Which should it become? Who knows how to finish off a Boggart?” Hermione already had her hand in the air, but she was the only one this time. “Hermione?”

“Laughter,” she said proudly.

“Correct again. Laughter, real laughter, is what finishes a Boggart. Now, to repel one, you need a charm. It’s simple, yet it requires force of mind, because you have to force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… _riddikulus_!”

“ _Riddikulus_!” said the class together.

“Good,” said Professor Black. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. Anyone want to volunteer to face their fears?” Nobody stepped up. “Come on, you’re Gryffindors! House of the brave!”

“I’ll do it,” Harry offered.

Sirius’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. “I…” He nodded. “Very well. Step forward, Harry.”

The wardrobe shook again, and Harry stepped forward, suddenly realizing he may have made a horrible mistake. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

“Dementors,” Harry replied.

Another twitch of Sirius’s mouth. “Well then. Truth be told, the same thing frightens us both. Do you know how to fight a Dementor?” Harry nodded, and Sirius’s eyes widened. “You do? Well then. Class, looks like we’re going for bonus points today. Mister Potter here has offered to demonstrate another charm for us. We’ll continue on Boggarts in a moment, but since we have this opportunity…can anyone tell me about Dementors?”

For the first time in history, Hermione hesitated in raising her hand. Ron’s, however, went up immediately. “Ah, Ron. Talk to me.”

“Dementors are…well, they’re like Boggarts,” Ron said quietly. “They feed on emotions. Happy ones. They guard Azkaban.”

Sirius nodded. “A basic description, but fitting. Dementors are foul creatures, truly. They suck away happy emotions and leave only fear and despair behind. Fearing a dementor is rather rational – they _are_ fear. However, they can be repelled and eventually destroyed with a charm, although it’s rather difficult.” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Slughorn watching him intently. “The Patronus Charm is tricky to get the hang of, but it’s the only real defense against Dementors and Lethifolds. I wouldn’t expect any of you to pull it off at this point in your lives, so don’t be disappointed if you can’t do it yet. The incantation is simple, _Expectro Patronum_. Let me hear you say it.” The class repeated it clearly, and Sirius nodded. “Good. Now, the incantation works properly if you are concentrating on a single, very happy memory. That might sound like it would be food for a Dementor, but only in the way that shoving an entire live chicken down your throat would be.” He closed his eyes and swirled his wand, before incanting “ _Expectro Patronum_!” A massive dog exploded from the end of his wand, pawing at the ground and shaking itself, before dissipating. “Now, let’s see how you handle a Boggart Dementor, shall we?”

Sirius flicked his wand at the doorknob, and the wardrobe opened, a Dementor gliding out. Harry could hear its rattling breath and felt clammy coldness biting into his body as a torrent of bad memories surged to the surface.

_Hermione’s last breath as he tried and failed to staunch the bleeding._

_Ron screaming for help as Fenrir Greyback savaged him._

_Neville’s blank, dead eyes staring up at him._

_Voldemort laughing as his mother’s screams cut off._

He felt one of his knees hit the ground, and gritted his teeth, before forcing his mind back to the end of his third year, when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup for the first time. “ _Expectro Patronum_!” Prongs burst from the end of his wand, galloping forward and tackling the Boggart back into the wardrobe.

“Oh, excellent!” Sirius said, his eyes a touch misty as Harry got to his feet. “As you can see, Harry’s Patronus is a stag. Very impressive, Harry, few wizards can master that spell. Who else would like to volunteer? Ron?” The boy looked slightly queasy, but stepped forward. “What would you say frightens you most?”

“Spiders,” Ron said softly.

“Understandable,” Sirius replied. “Too many legs, fangs, that webbing…” He shook his head. “Now, how might you force it to look funny instead of scary?”

Ron stared at him for a moment. “Take its legs off?”

Sirius shrugged. “That could work. Can you picture that very clearly? See it in your mind’s eye?” Ron nodded. “Good. When the Boggart pops back out and sees you, it will assume the form of a rather large spider, I suspect. And you will raise your wand — thus — and cry ‘ _Riddikulus_ ’ — and concentrate hard on taking its legs off. All right?” Ron nodded again, pushing up his sleeves. “Good man. If Ron is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn. All of you, take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical.” A few moments passed, and Harry stepped back, trying to force away the images that had assaulted him.

“Everyone ready?” Professor Black asked. “Ron, we’re going to back away. Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Ron can get a clear shot —” They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Ron alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he was holding his wand ready.

Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, Harry thought Ron had frozen. Then — “ _Riddikulus_!” bellowed Ron, and the spider’s legs vanished with a sound like a whip crack, leaving the body to thump to the ground. There was a roar of laughter; the Boggart paused, confused, and Sirius shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”

Parvati walked forward, her face set. There was another crack, and where the spider had lain was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising —

“ _Riddikulus_!” cried Parvati.

A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

“Seamus!” Sirius called. Seamus darted past Parvati.

 _Crack_! Where the mummy had been was a woman with floorlength black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face — a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Harry’s head stand on end — “Riddikulus!” shouted Seamus. The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone.

 _Crack_! The banshee turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle, then — _crack_!- became a rattlesnake, which slithered and writhed before — _crack_! — becoming a single, bloody eyeball. “It’s confused!” Sirius shouted. “We’re getting there! Dean!”

Dean hurried forward. _Crack_! The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab. “Riddikulus!” yelled Dean. There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.

“Hermione!” _Crack_! Professor McGonagall appeared, but before she could get a word out, Hermione had already shouted the charm, turning the Boggart into McGonagall’s Animagus form.

“Well _done_!” Sirius shouted. “Neville! Finish it off!”

 _Crack_! Bellatrix Lestrange appeared, and Neville paled slightly. Harry’s eyes widened, and he saw Sirius running forward as a familiar green glow lit the end of Bellatrix’s wand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third year seems to be one of the hardest to write for most time-travelling Harry fics – one of the first things Harry usually does is get Sirius out of prison, which removes ninety percent of the conflict from that year. The end result is that it’s mostly filler.
> 
> So that was some election we had here in the US, huh? I'm laughing my ass off. It's pretty much the first smart thing my country has done in years.

No matter how often the shit hit the fan, Harry thought as he surveyed the situation, it was always amazing how quickly good situations could turn bad. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion, as a Boggart in the form of Bellatrix Lestrange was aiming a Killing Curse at Neville. Sirius was sprinting forward, his face drawn back in a snarl and a curse ready to leap from his wand. Neville was staring at Bellatrix, pale and sweating. Slughorn had drawn his wand as well, resting his wand over his forearm and aiming carefully. Harry had drawn his own wand reflexively and had a hand out to drag Neville out of the way. _Not this time_.

Sirius was a few steps away from a clear shot at Bellatrix when Neville raised his wand and bellowed, “ _Riddikulus_!” _Crack_! Bellatrix transformed into an inflatable clown, rocking back and forth on a flexible base. Neville took two steps forward, swinging a punch into the clown’s face. “Ha!” The Boggart exploded, dissolving into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.

Sirius skidded to a halt, his eyes flicking over as he reevaluated the situation. Quickly pasting a smile on his face, he turned to the class. “Excellent! Very well done, Neville. Well done, everyone…Let me see…five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the Boggart, five to everyone who assisted our class discussion, and another twenty for Harry’s demonstration of the Patronus Charm.” The bell rang, and Sirius nodded. “For homework, kindly read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it for me. Hand it in on Monday. That will be all.” He caught Neville’s eye, making a ‘come here’ motion with two fingers.

Harry lingered, trying to slow his heart rate and eavesdropping as Sirius closed on Neville. “You all right?” the man asked gently.

“I…didn’t expect that,” Neville said softly.

“I could tell,” Sirius replied. “You handled it well, though. Professor Slughorn and I were about to intervene when you handled it. You’re a Gryff, all right.” He fished the wand holster out of his robes. “Here you go. You did great.” Neville took it, blushing brightly as he left the classroom.

“That was impressive,” Slughorn said from next to Harry, making him jump. “I was not aware a thirteen-year-old could cast a corporeal Patronus.”

Harry shrugged. “It took a lot of effort to learn, and it doesn’t always work. I’d best be going. S’cuse me, Professor.” He and Neville caught up with the rest of the class, who were talking excitedly.

“Did you see me take that banshee?” shouted Seamus.

“And the hand!” said Dean, waving his own around.

“And my mummy!”

Neville and Harry shared a look, both feeling a bit sick. Ron’s smile faded a bit as he caught the look on their faces. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Neville said firmly.

“Nothing at all,” Harry lied. “We’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Ron gave him a slightly concerned look, but nodded and moved on.

“You recognized her,” Neville said without preamble.

“Bellatrix Lestrange. She’s related to Sirius. Cousins, or something.”

“Yeah.” Neville rubbed at his face. “I didn’t expect that. I…I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

“But you handled it anyway,” Harry pointed out. “Faster than I did that dementor.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Neville, Harry,” Sirius said from nearby, making both jump. “You two all right?”

“Sort of,” Neville replied.

“Not really,” Harry admitted.

“Most people can’t throw down with a Death Eater and win, even a boggart pretending to be one,” Sirius said casually. “Or a Dementor, for that matter. A third-year doing it, and on the first try…” He shrugged. “Pretty bad-ass.”

—ML—

In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people’s favorite class. Sirius’s next few lessons were just as interesting as the first, as they traded off between learning about dangerous creatures and Dark magic. At their second lesson, Sirius spoke at length about Legilimency.

“It’s not a very subtle art, Legilimency,” Sirius explained. “A particularly skilled Legilimens can skim your surface thoughts just by making eye contact, but generally if someone is rooting around in your mind, you’ll be well aware. Now, there is a defense against Legilimency, but it’s a far trickier skill to pick up, called Occlumency. The basic form of it involves clearing your mind, controlling your emotions, and basically presenting a blank slate to your opponent’s probing attempts. Higher levels involve suppressing anything they might find in there that’ll contradict what you want them to find. Now obviously that’s easier said than done, as exercising such constant tight control over your mind and emotions would make anyone into a massive tightass.” A few giggles went up. “Pardon me, poor choice of words. A _colossal_ tightass.” A few more giggles.

Lavender raised her hand. “Are you a Legilimens, sir?”

Sirius shook his head. “No, I don’t have the aptitude. I can use the spell, but it’s taxing and I’m not always sure of my findings. If I want to know something, I’ll just ask you. Now, I do know for a fact that every single person in this room has had Legilimency used on them at one point. The Sorting Hat was enchanted by Salazar Slytherin to have the ability to look into the minds of whoever wore it. Two guesses how. I’m afraid I’m not particularly skilled as an Occlumens, although I’ve been able to at least shield my surface thoughts from outside observation.” He gave them a self-deprecating grin. “I’m a bit too high-strung to keep my emotions perfectly in check, although my departed mother would have told you that I was too thick to have my mind read.”

Potions class was no longer dreaded by three out of the four Houses, and Harry kept careful watch on his performance, trying not to stand out, pretending to struggle with potions he had already done before. He noticed Slughorn watching him carefully and feigned incompetence, nearly upending his cauldron before Hermione stopped him.

With Care of Magical Creatures lacking the blood-spattered first day it had before, Hagrid had retained his confidence and introduced the class to bowtruckles, salamanders, and Augureys. One day in late October, they found him waiting at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. “Now, today’s a special lesson, so pay attention, all o’ yeh,” Hagrid said. “We’re learnin’ about centaurs today, and I’ve brought in a friend to help out. Firenze?”

One of the few centaurs Harry would recognize at a glance emerged from the trees, and a few ‘oohs’ went up as the students caught sight of him. With white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes and the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse, Firenze cut an impressive figure. Harry noticed a bow looped over his shoulder, a capped quiver hanging from his torso. “Greetings, young ones,” Firenze greeted them. “I am Firenze, part of the pack of centaurs that reside in this forest.”

“Now I expect yeh – all of yeh,” Hagrid said, glaring at the Slytherins, “to be polite. Centaurs are their own species, so I don’t want to hear any ‘half-breed’ nonsense from any o’ yeh!”

“Easy, friend Hagrid,” Firenze chuckled. “I have long grown used to the silliness of wizards.” Hagrid snorted, patting Firenze on the shoulder. “May I?”

“All yours, Firenze.”

Firenze nodded politely. “As you can see, centaurs appear to be half human and half horse. However, as Professor Hagrid has said, we are our own species. Your Ministry of Magic classifies us as ‘beasts,’ at our own request.”

Harry raised his hand. “Why is that…er, sir?”

“Firenze, to all of you,” the centaur replied. “We were originally classified as ‘beings,’ but we resented the association with hags and vampires that this implied. Your Ministry classifies us as creatures of ‘near-human intelligence,’ although I am pleased to say that thankfully, our intelligence far outstrips that of humans. We do tend to keep to ourselves, however. By agreeing to speak to you today, I have angered many of my herd.”

“I’ll say it again, yer a sport for doin’ this,” Hagrid murmured.

“If you find yourself in the company of centaurs, I would request that you be polite,” Firenze went on. “We do not appreciate being insulted any more than you do, and while one of us may be intimidating alone, centaurs like myself tend to live in herds of ten to fifty.”

Parvati raised her hand. “Is it true that you are gifted in divining the future?”

Firenze bowed his head, hiding a brief smile. “Not in the way that humans prefer to. Your Divination focuses on trivial hurts, tiny human accidents with no bearing on truly important matters.” Parvati frowned at the perceived slight to one of her favorite professors. “Centaurs take a broader view on the world – rather than focus on personal fortunes, we follow the movements of the stars and the planets, and we watch the skies for the great tides of evil or change that are sometimes marked there. It may take ten years to discern what we are seeing, and even then we cannot be sure we have interpreted matters correctly.” He smiled faintly. “And from what I have seen, humans lack the patience to wait that long to see if they were right.” Snickers ran through the class. “Any other questions?”

The rest of the class passed calmly as Firenze answered questions from the students. The Slytherins mostly kept silent, wary of the bow the centaur was carrying. Eventually, Firenze glanced up at the sun. “Well, I have enjoyed this, but I must be returning to my herd. I bid you all farewell.” With a wave of his hand, Firenze turned and cantered into the depths of the forest.

—ML—

Harry blew the steam away from his cup of tea, ignoring the rain lashing against the window and the green and blue blurs zipping over the Quidditch pitch in the distance. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Professor.”

“Of course, Potter.”

“I managed to talk her out of it this time around, but Hermione previously opted to take every possible course. Her Monday morning alone had three elective courses at the same hour. Who decided that was a good idea? Was nobody taking those electives?”

McGonagall smiled faintly. “We normally aim to schedule the courses in a way that there’s no overlap. Miss Granger choosing to take every elective would have created something of an issue.”

—ML—

Harry was slowly pacing in front of Albus’s desk in mid-October, the Headmaster watching him serenely. “The cup is still a loose end,” Harry groused. “We have the others secure, more or less,” he rubbed at his scar a moment, “but short of breaking into Gringotts, I don’t see how we would manage it.”

“I’ve made contact with the goblins,” Dumbledore explained. “Their staunch policy is _never_ to access the vaults of their clients without permission. And I doubt that Bellatrix would be amenable to opening her vault for us.”

“And we can’t even just wait for the bitch to die, because then her husband would gain control of the vault,” Harry sighed. “Any progress on this?” He tapped his forehead.

Dumbledore shook his head. “I have several of the world’s greatest and most discrete ritual mages working on it. So far, we have a ritual that would almost certainly destroy the soul fragment…at the cost of your life.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, there’s time yet. Probably.” He dropped into the chair opposite Dumbledore, rubbing at his face. “I have to say, one of the things I didn’t consider was having to go through puberty again.”

“I imagine it would be even more annoying the second time around,” Dumbledore said with a smile.

“My face is oily all the time, my voice cracks every other sentence, and I realize this may be a bit more than you need to know, but I have no control over this thing at all,” Harry said, gesturing at his crotch.

“Harry.”

“It’s up, it’s down, it’s up for no reason.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore repeated.

“You’d think there would be a class – Wizard Puberty, How to Polish Your Wand or Oil Your Holster, Or Both If You’re Into That.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said more stridently.

“Or a pamphlet at least, maybe Madam Pomfrey could hand it out,” Harry went out. “As it is, this thing is just making its own decisions.”

“Harry!” Dumbledore cried. “We can discuss your penis at another time!”

“Is this a bad time?” Sirius asked from the door.

Dumbledore paused, before glaring at Harry. “You _cheeky_ …”

—ML—

“Where do you disappear to anyway?” Ron asked as Harry dropped into a chair in the Gryffindor common room. “You and Dumbledore are always up to something.”

Harry shrugged. “I could tell you that we’re working on taking over the world, but that wouldn’t be true, and I would hate to lie to you.”

Ron squinted at him. “You’re not going to tell me, are you.”

“I could, but I’d rather not,” Harry said uncomfortably. “You wouldn’t be any happier for knowing, and that’s even if you believed me.”

Ron nodded. “One of these days you’ll tell me though, right?”

“Hopefully, by the time I tell you it won’t matter anymore,” Harry said softly. “How’s your dad?”

Ron grinned. “Loving his job. Potter Enterprises apparently has a very generous expense account – he’s had to expand the shed out back of the Burrow to hold all his new toys. Drives Mum spare, which is just a bonus. Here, he sent me something.” Ron held out his wrist, a gold watch on a dark leather band flashing in the light. “It tells time, sure, but it also has a temporary Disillusionment Charm in it, a light, and a compass, and he planned to have an emergency Portkey. The Portkey’d be no use here at Hogwarts, of course,” Ron said quickly, seeing Hermione opening her mouth, “but it’s also waterproof, fireproof, and will tell you if you’re running late for something. He calls it the WanderWatch.”

“I don’t remember _that_ in the last monthly report,” Harry muttered.

“He said it’s not fit to sell,” Ron explained. “Apparently the battery needs changing too often. But he’s working on it.”

“Any other prototypes he’s sent?” Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. “He made a broom compass that was supposed to fly the broom itself, but he said it had a nasty tendency to fly you into the nearest mountain.”

Harry winced. “Yeah, maybe it’s best that that one gets a bit more fine-tuning.”

—ML—

“Today we’re going to learn about defense,” Sirius said at the start of class the next week. “While this may seem a bit odd considering we’re well into the term and this class is literally called Defense Against the Dark Arts, you’ve mainly been learning about Dark creatures and curses and how to deal with them. Today we’re going to start working on how you actually defend yourself against Dark Wizards.” There were some murmurs of interest, and Sirius waited until he had their undivided attention. “There are a handful of basic guidelines you should stick to that we’ll be exploring over the next few weeks. Rule number one – always have a way to run away.” A few students looked confused. “If you’re facing a proper Dark Wizard and not some muppet you pissed off, odds are good that he or she has more skill, more experience, and more of the will to kill than you do. So, unless you’re obscenely lucky or very stupid, your best option is to turn and run away and let someone who gets paid to put themselves in danger take care of it.”

“Are you telling us that there’s no way we can win?” Seamus asked. “Why bother learning then?”

Sirius didn’t blink. “All right, let’s workshop this. You’re eating lunch in the Great Hall and a Dark Wizard attacks. People like to say there’s no place safer than Hogwarts, but this place had a basilisk and a troll in here over the last two years. You’ve got a mouthful of ham sandwich and some berk is about to start setting things on fire. What do you do?”

Seamus stared at him. “Er…protection spell?”

“So you’ve already got your wand out?” Sirius challenged. “You always eat lunch ready to counter-attack someone? What, do you get in fights that often?”

“Well, uh, I get my wand out, then…”

“Where’s your wand?” Sirius pressed.

Seamus held it up. “It’s right here.”

“While you’re eating lunch. Where’s your wand? In your robes? On the table?”

“I mean…it’s probably in my pocket,” Seamus waffled.

“Probably?” Sirius asked. “So you’re not sure. You’re telling me that if a Dark Wizard strolls in and starts flinging curses you’re going to figure out what’s happening, decide how to protect yourself, find your wand, and cast your protection spell, all before he has time to set you on fire?”

“All right, fine, I’ll run,” Seamus replied. “That’s what you’re looking for here, right?”

Sirius nodded. “Step one, get yourself to safety. You’re defining ‘win’ wrong. ‘Win’ is you’re alive and in once piece, because ‘lose’ won’t mean you’ve been jinxed, it’ll mean you’re permanently injured at best. Now, I realize some of you are probably thinking ‘but Professor Black, I thought you were the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, so why are you telling us to take up jogging?’ Because it’s a lot harder for someone to set you on fire if you’re already in the next county by the time they finish monologuing. And speaking as someone who fought You-Know-Who and lived to tell the tale, and as someone who is being paid to teach you all how to keep yourselves safe in an unsafe world – don’t be afraid to leg it. You may think it’s cowardly to run. But which is your priority? Your pride, or your life?” Harry frowned, recalling Sirius saying that the risk was what made things fun.

“However, there will probably come a time that you can’t run away. Whether you’ve got someone you can’t leave behind who can’t flee, or you’re cornered, or maybe you were ambushed in the loo, who knows.” There were a few nervous giggles. “The point stands that you may not have the chance to run. So you stand and fight. Which brings us to our next step, use your environment.” Sirius drew his wand. “Show of hands, how many of you can cast…do they still use that jinx around here, the one that makes carrots sprout out of your ears?”

“The one they use these days makes you sprout leeks, not carrots,” Ron replied.

“Oh, an improvement,” Sirius said brightly. “All right. How many of you think you can cast it reliably?” Most of the hands went up. “And how many of you can cast it with a book flying at your face?” The hands went down. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to start chucking a book at any of you, as funny as that might be to some of you. But let’s go back to our previous scenario. Our Dark Wizard has sealed the doors and it’s just him and everyone in the Great Hall. Actually, we’ll get to that in a moment. Let’s say everyone else managed to run, but you got left behind. It’s just you and him in the Great Hall. You’ve got your wand out. What do you do?”

“Brown my pants,” Ron muttered.

Sirius let it pass without comment. “Show of hands – how many of you can cast a Banishing Charm?” Most of the hands went up. “So how well do you think that Dark Wizard is going to be flinging curses with a storm of plates and forks flying at his face? I once distracted a Dark wizard by flinging a live chicken at his face and kicking him in the pills. Ungentlemanly methods of fighting are the methods that keep you alive, so don’t be afraid to use them. How many of you can cast a Leg-Locker Curse?” He didn’t wait for the show of hands. “Let’s say all of you are in the Great Hall together when our Dark Wizard shows up. What do you think is going to happen when he’s hit with a dozen, two dozen, Leg-Lockers at once?”

—ML—

Ron’s forehead thunked down on the open textbook. “Why did I let you talk me into taking this class?” he moaned. “I’m all right with maths, but this is ridiculous. Two plus two equals four, and it _always_ equals four! How does this make it equal five?”

“Magic,” Harry replied, making another note on the equation he was working on.

Ron lifted his head, squinting at Harry. “Level with me. Do you understand this?”

“I try not to,” Harry admitted. “Slows up the work.” He carefully neglected the months of intensive research into the subject he had performed before his jump back in time. “Think about it this way. The world has rules. We need air to live, two plus two equals four, stuff like that. Magic doesn’t let us break the rules, just bend them a little. Which is why with this, two plus two can equal five, but it can’t equal five hundred, not at our level. There are still limits. If anything, it should make the math easier – it doesn’t _have_ to make sense.”

Ron paused, his mouth slightly open. “I…how does that…I think I get it now.” Flipping to a new page, Ron’s face brightened. “I can do this.”

“You think this stuff is troublesome, try calculus,” Hermione replied. “I had my parents send me a textbook on it, to see if there was any overlap…” She frowned at the annoyed looks she was getting. “Just out of curiosity!”

“You should bring a textbook to our next class, and make Vector’s head explode,” Harry suggested.

“That would just be tasteless,” Hermione sniffed.

Harry gasped, surging to his feet. “Tasteless? That does it, Madam! I demand satisfaction!”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “What, do you plan to duel me? Remember who gets better marks in Charms, Harry.”

“Two measly points,” Harry grumbled. “But that’s not my plan. No, I’ve been waiting on doing this for long enough!” Marching out of the common room, Harry set to work. “Tasteless. I’ll show her tasteless!”

“Does anyone know where he’s going?” Hermione asked, to a chorus of shaking heads. “Well, he’ll come home when he gets hungry.”

—ML—

Dean chuckled as he shook the Magic 8-Ball again. “I swear this thing is more reliable than reading tea leaves.”

Seamus shook his head, fighting back a grin as he looked through their work. “Considering we’re making this up anyway…”

“Here you go, boys,” Harry said, dropping a box on the table. “As promised.”

“This ought to liven things up,” Dean replied. “Thanks, Harry!”

“Don’t leave just yet,” Harry warned. “I’ve got some other plans that should be paying off right…about…now.”

As if on cue, a thunderous bellow echoed up from the dungeons. “ _POTTER!_ ”

“Harry?” Seamus asked faintly. “What did you do?”

“Well, Snape might be finding out that his hair’s been irreversibly charmed pink and he’s got a scarf with the name ‘Debbie’ in glitter on it attached to his neck right about now,” Harry said casually as McGonagall stood at the entrance to the dungeons, looking warily down the stairs. “He may also have a trio of shampoo bottles orbiting around his head.”

“How long is that going to last?” Dean asked as Seamus wheezed for air.

Harry gave him an innocent look. “Why, until he uses the shampoo to wash the dye out of his hair, of course. So, it could be years, really.” Harry paused. “I may have also charmed all the labels on his potion ingredients to read ‘DRINK ME.’”

Snape came storming up the stairs, the black watch cap jammed hastily over his hair failing to hide the pink tips protruding from the back. The shampoo bottles were still spinning lazily around his head, but it looked like he had wrapped a scarf over the glitter-covered one Harry had attached to his neck. “ _Potter!_ ” He repeated. “Undo this at once!”

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Harry lied, feeling a Legilimency probe skitter off his shields. “But I must say, pink suits you, Debbie.”

A tic started in the man’s eye. “I _will_ see you expelled for this, boy.”

“Probably won’t take you much time to produce evidence, since you’ll have to fabricate it anyway,” Harry replied.

“Mister Potter,” McGonagall began.

“What’s new, pussycat?” Harry asked. The professor’s lips thinned, and Harry quickly backtracked. “Sorry, Professor, I didn’t mean to overstep there. But I have it on good authority that you have no evidence. Of anything. I’m perfectly and completely innocent. And I have four alibis ready, just in case.”

“You seem awfully concerned with that for someone who is innocent,” McGonagall replied dryly.

“Mister Snape here is already convinced that I did whatever it is I supposedly did, and you and I both know he’s not big on due process, not when he can simply lift the information from someone’s mind,” Harry said, getting another twitch out of Snape with the jab. “I realize I’m already on thin ice after taking Oliver Wood’s saying ‘I've heard every possible joke about my name’ as a challenge, but I promise, this wasn’t me.”

“You can’t honestly believe him,” Snape spat. “Nobody else would dare!”

Whatever else Snape was about to say was drowned out by screaming as Peeves swooped through the hall, sending first-years running as he opened up with a paintball gun. McGonagall spun, a glittering shield springing into place and halting the projectiles in mid-flight. “ _Peeves! ENOUGH!_ ”

“Peevesie can do what he wants! He’s a prefect!” The poltergeist proudly displayed his stolen prefect’s badge, before sending another spray of paintballs towards the staff table. Cackling, Peeves swooped back out of the Great Hall, firing at random.

“I’d better go deal with that,” McGonagall sighed. “Come along, Severus. We’ll get you sorted out with Madam Pomfrey. She’ll have something to fix this.”

“If it’ll make Mister Snape feel better, I could certainly go see Professor Dumbledore,” Harry offered. “I’m sure he’ll be willing to look into this.”

“You do that,” McGonagall said as she dragged Snape from the hall.

Harry muttered a spell Sirius had taught him and waved his wand, music coming from nowhere to accompany him as he marched out of the hall. “We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz, because because because because _because_ …”

—ML—

Dumbledore downed the last of the bicarbonate of soda, glaring at Harry. “I hope you’re happy.”

“My liege,” Harry bowed. “I live to serve.”

“What have I done this time – _this time_ , I take no responsibility for what I did in the past future – to deserve this?” Dumbledore paused, clearly sorting through the tenses. “What mystifies me is how you accomplished all this mayhem in the course of a single night! Books of Muggle fairy-tales have shown up in the history section of the Hogwarts library. The Slytherin Quidditch team’s brooms have been replaced with ordinary housebrooms and were later located in Filch’s supply closet. Someone painted all the Hogwarts house-elves blue and instructed them to refer to themselves as ‘Smurfs.’ Several first-years had to be stopped from building a treehouse in the Whomping Willow. A Muggle weed was found growing in numerous greenhouses. Hagrid received a short tonne of large-breed puppy chow and a pack of something he’s calling ‘Pokermon’ cards, that he believes _are real animals_! I’m an old man, Harry, my heart cannot take this kind of strain forever!”

“You forgot about the tiara that’s been glued to Malfoy’s head,” Harry said, buffing his nails on his shirt. “That’s staying there until he sings ‘I Feel Pretty’ in public, by the way. Interesting little bit of magic. He has to do it at the top of his voice, too.” Dumbledore was giving Harry a pathetic look. “Anything else? I had a busy night, and I need to go give Moaning Myrtle an eyeful before classes begin.”

“Albus, I must protest,” Professor Trelawney said as she bustled into the Headmaster’s office. “This is a scandal! Someone brought Muggle fortune cookies to Divination for ‘extra credit!’”

Dumbledore whimpered as Harry made a hasty exit.

—ML—

The next few days were relatively quiet, broken only by the wails of paint-spattered first years as Peeves continued his introduction to paintballing, and the irate screaming of Filch as he futilely scrubbed at the splatters of paint on the walls.

With Harry’s rash of pranks concluded, he rededicated his time to his schoolwork. The downside to having spent so much of his time worrying about the latest threats to his life in the past meant that Harry was essentially seeing some of his essays for the first time. Quidditch matches played out differently as well, but with several years of experience under his belt and knowledge of both Oliver’s and Angelina’s plays burned into his brain, Harry could fly with the best Hogwarts had ever seen.

The pressure was on, though.

“We won last year, and the year before,” Oliver was saying. “I _refuse_ to let us lose the Cup my last year at Hogwarts.”

“Not a chance,” Harry said confidently. “We’ve got the best team in the school, and everyone knows it.”

“Try telling that to the Slytherins,” Alicia chided.

Harry snorted. “If they had any confidence in their skill, they wouldn’t have bothered with getting those brooms. We proved last year we can outfly them on their best days.”

“Harry’s got a point,” Oliver admitted. “We’ve got three superb Chasers, a pair of unbeatable Beaters, and a Seeker who has _never failed to win us a match_ , no matter the injury. We’ve got a spiffing reserve Keeper and tryouts for other reserve positions coming up. This is the last year I’ll get to see our name on that Cup, and no matter what the other teams throw our way, we’re taking it home again!”

Three nights a week, the team trained hard, Quidditch tryouts opening after the first few sessions. Almost all of the prospective candidates Harry remembered were too young to try out, but neither Harry or any of the Weasleys were remotely surprised to see Ginny clutching a broom and smiling fiercely through the pouring rain as Oliver spoke to the rookie Quidditch players. “We’re looking for the best. Don’t tell the team, but if any of you are good enough, I’d consider bumping you up to active status, not just a reserve player.”

“Ollie, we’re standing right here,” Harry coughed from behind Oliver.

Their captain didn’t so much as blink. “Right then! Let’s see what you’ve got!”

An hour later, Harry was regretting opening his mouth, as Oliver had volunteered him for target practice. Any Beater that could ‘make the Weasleys work for it’ would be considered as a reserve player, and Oliver had promised an instant acceptance to anyone who managed to unseat Harry from his broom. As a result, Harry spent most of the next hour performing a dizzying set of aerobatic maneuvers to keep a dozen Beater candidates trying their best to murder him with cannonballs from making the team. Any Chaser that could dunk a Quaffle past Wood would be brought on as a reserve, but after half an hour of casually knocking shots out of the way, Oliver blew his whistle as Harry finished a multiple-loop dodge of both Bludgers. “Harry, have you spotted any prospective Seekers?”

“Reserve Seekers, right?” Harry asked with a grin, hovering next to his captain.

“Er, of course,” Oliver said guiltily. “I would never replace you.”

“I should hope not.” Harry pointed at Ginny. “The short one with the red hair and the unbreakable grin moves like a Seeker, but she’s the only one besides Robins who even came close to making a shot on you.”

“True,” Oliver replied, brushing his rain-soaked hair out of his eyes. “Another Weasley, eh? This keeps up and they’ll fill every position.”

Harry shook his head. “Unless there’s more Ron hasn’t told me about, Ginny’s the last Weasley from this generation. I’d say bring her on as a reserve Chaser, but if I take a bad hit during a game she could probably sub in for Seeker.”

“Oi, don’t I get a say in this?” Ginny asked.

“No,” Harry and Oliver replied in unison. The girl pouted.

—ML—

“Got all your lists?” Oliver asked. “Dervish and Banges should have everything we need for our reserve players.”

“Yes, for the fourth time,” Harry sighed. “Remind me again why I’m stuck doing this instead of you, _Captain_?”

“Because I’m your Captain, and I’m making you do it,” Oliver replied as he wrapped a Gryffindor scarf around his neck. “And I have a date.”

“First Hogsmeade weekend ever, and I’m stuck running your errands,” Harry griped good-naturedly, well-aware he could wrap up the task in five minutes.

—ML—

The Halloween feast, lacking the imminent threat of an escaped convict staging a one-man assault on the castle, was a Patronus-worthy memory for Harry. The Great Hall had been decorated with hundreds and hundreds of candle-filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats, and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant watersnakes.

“We’re lucky the bats are charmed not to drop…droppings, in the food,” Harry remarked, glancing into his goblet and looking up warily. The food was delicious; even those who were full to bursting with Honeydukes sweets after the first Hogsmeade trip of the term managed second helpings of everything. Harry kept glancing at the staff table. Sirius looked slightly grim up at the staff table, although he was talking animatedly to Professor Flitwick. Harry did a quick mental check and realized the full moon was in a few days, and Sirius’s presence at the castle left Remus alone for his transformation.

Harry’s mood darkened at the realization, but he brightened as the feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading.

The pouring rain intensified as the first Quidditch match of the season approached, and Wood’s training grew with it, leaving the Gryffindor Quidditch team soaked and chilled to the bone as they trained hard.

“We’ve got to offset the Slytherin’s advantage,” he said again. “We can outfly them, but they can out-speed us, and they play dirty. We’ve got a full roster of reserves, but we have to fly well enough that we won’t need them.”

The Gryffindors were leaving another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson – “I want a roll of parchment on how to recognize where Grindylows live and how to beat them!” Sirius called as they packed up and left – when Harry spotted the two Slytherin Beaters heading towards them. Recognizing a bad situation in the making immediately, Harry ducked back into the classroom, only for the Slytherins to follow him back in, shoving past Lavender and Parvati. The blonde protested, but one of the Beaters silenced her with a glare.

“Oi, Potter, we want a few words with you,” one of the Beaters said.

“I’d be surprised if you could string that many together,” Harry replied. “You really trying to take out the opposing Seeker the day before the match? Is Flint that worried about his chances?”

“Now look, Potter-” the other Beater growled.

“Something wrong here?” Sirius asked, stepping up behind Harry. “Little disagreement?”

“No, Professor Black,” one of the Beaters said immediately. “No problem. See you on the pitch, Potter.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Harry called after them. “Good timing, _Professor_ , I had a feeling those two were about to start something.”

“Not with me around,” Sirius declared. “They do that often?”

“Not that I know of, but we swept the Cup out from under them last year,” Harry said. “Even with top-of-the-line brooms, they still lost to us.”

“And you think they’re trying to intimidate you so they stand a better chance,” Sirius finished. “Well, that’s just wonderful. Make sure to show them up tomorrow. Prove that they can’t lean on the opposing team.”

—ML—

Harry had finished a bowl of porridge and was building an egg-and-bacon sandwich as the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team filed down in various states of wakefulness, followed by the reserve players. “It’s going to be a rough one,” Wood said nervously, ignoring the food in front of him.

Harry passed over a plate of eggs. “Fuel up. With these winds we’ll need all the weight and energy we can get.”

“It’s just rain,” Alicia said. “We can handle rain.”

“Yeah, rain,” Oliver replied. “But how about rain, wind, and maybe lightning?”

Harry shrugged. “That’s why we have a full block of reserves, Ollie. Now _eat_.”

The team managed to get a few pieces of toast and some orange juice into their captain before it was time to head down to the pitch, but when the time came for Wood’s pre-match pep talk, the seventh-year clearly began to flounder.

“Look, Oliver, it’s going to be fine,” Harry insisted, charming his glasses to repel water with a muttered ‘ _Impervius_.’ “You just fly like you normally do, and we’ll be fine. The Slytherins couldn’t beat us in good weather, and they won’t be able to beat us in this soup. And they know it.”

“What makes you say that?” Oliver squeaked.

“Because their Beaters tried to intimidate me yesterday,” Harry said.

“And us the day before,” Alicia said, gesturing to herself and Angelina.

“They’re scared,” Fred scoffed. “They know we’re better fliers than they are.”

“ _Everyone_ knows we’re better fliers than they are,” Angelina added.

“Let’s do this, yeah?” Katie urged, holding her hand out.

Every member of the team put their hands in. “One-two-three-GRYFFINDOR!”

Spirits rallied, the team stormed onto the pitch, only to be nearly blown over like bowling pins when the wind caught them. By the time they reached the center of the pitch where Madam Hooch was waiting, both teams were soaked to the skin and shivering. Flint and Oliver shook hands, Flint glaring at Oliver, who merely gave a calm stare in return.

The fresh rolls of thunder blotted out all other sound as the heaviest part of the storm moved over the school. Harry mounted his broom as the others did, but only realized that the game had begun when the rest of the team kicked off into the sky.

With his glasses mercifully clear and no Dementors within a hundred miles, Harry knew he had an even footing with Malfoy – barring Harry’s extra years of flying experience, which he counted as making up for Malfoy being an ass in Potions at every opportunity. Twice he saw the Snitch, the tiny ball being blown around by the chaotic winds as much as the players were. A highly disgruntled post owl nearly met its end by Bludger as it was blown onto the pitch, but as the day wore on and the storm showed no sign of slackening, both teams began to flag.

Two hours into the match, Gryffindor was leading by twenty points, and Harry was beginning to lose his grip on his broom through numb fingers. Malfoy was orbiting nearby, mouthing something Harry was moderately sure was meant to be insulting that couldn’t be made out over the wind. The Snitch glinted past, and Harry turned, seeing it reverse course before losing sight of it again.

Ignoring him, Harry sat upright on his broom, trying to maintain position and spot the Snitch through the sheeting rain as one of the Slytherin Beaters cracked his bat against a Bludger. The Bludger soared upwards, smashing through the underside of Harry's faithful Nimbus and slamming directly into the small of his back.

Harry didn't feel the broom lose power amidst the impact of the Bludger, but he realized what had happened a moment later as he went into free-fall. Malfoy soared past, clearly more interested in laughing at Harry than getting the Snitch, and Harry reached out by reflex, snagging the tiny ball out of the air as he dropped past.

As he rocketed towards the ground, Harry did a mental tally of his situation.

On the upside, he had caught the Snitch.

On the downside, he was rapidly approaching terminal velocity, didn't have his wand handy, and had never managed a spell to slow one's fall without a wand.

All in all, not a great trade.

—ML—

Harry woke up in the hospital wing, groaning as his body protested. “I’m so sick of this place.”

"Madam Pomfrey!" Ron hollered, still drenched to the skin. “He's awake.”

"If you miss me so badly, you could just come by for tea," Madam Pomfrey said, shooing the others away. Her wand flashed as she checked Harry over.

"Few questions," Harry groaned as the Quidditch team began to crowd back in. "Why can't I feel my legs?"

"Your pelvis was fractured, along with three of your lumbar vertebrae," Madam Pomfrey explained. At Harry's stricken look, she went on. "You'll be walking again in no time, don't worry. The bones are healing, but you'll be here for a day or two and I've got your lower half locked in place so you don't set yourself back."

Harry nodded. "Follow-up – is, er…everything…intact?”

Pomfrey gave him the look that all doctors and healers, Muggle or otherwise, are taught. “Of course. What kind of a professional do you take me for?”

“Valid point. Second big question – what happened to my broomstick?"

Ron winced. "It…er…didn't make it."

"It sort of…blew up after the Bludger broke it," Fred added. "There wasn't much left."

Harry groaned. "Poor thing. It served me well, deserved a better end than that." He rubbed his face, grimacing. "All right. We won, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, we won. Really, Harry, that's a concern?"

"Serious business," Harry insisted. “I broke my back for this match, the least we could do is win!”

—ML—

Harry managed to walk out of the Hospital Wing under his own power less than a day later, having successfully driven Madam Pomfrey spare with endless games of cards. While the school nurse had no idea why Harry could consistently call her bluffs in hands of poker, she also had no idea she was sitting with her back to a glass-fronted cabinet that reflected her hand.

During his stay, Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card that Harry remembered she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit. Luna dropped by not long after that, saying that Peeves had directed her to him.

“Er, about that…” Harry said.

“You’ve been having him watch out for me,” Luna replied.

Harry paused, his mouth open. “If that were the case, I would like to know how you figured it out. Purely hypothetically, of course.”

“Hypothetically,” Luna said, trying out the word, “I would say it was because Peeves told me. And because he never bothered me, never called me Loony, and any time another student did, Peeves would be after them in less than a day.”

Harry winced as he realized he had never told Peeves not to mention to Luna why she was being protected. “Well, I suppose that would be rather conclusive evidence, wouldn’t it?”

“I appreciate what you’re having him do, but why?”

Harry shrugged evasively, wishing he could feel his legs well enough to run away. “I don’t like bullies,” he finally said. “And you’re a friend of Ginny’s.”

“She fancies you, you know,” Luna said serenely.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone but Ron knows,” Harry muttered, glancing at the get-well card.

“Do you fancy her?”

“If I say yes, are you going to tell her?” Harry asked. “I can’t imagine why she fancies me, I mean look at me. My voice is cracking and my face looks like the uglier parts of the moon these days.”

“You’ll grow out of it,” Luna replied. “Or you’ll die.”

Harry paused. “Thanks for cheering me up, Luna.”

As Harry left the hospital wing, he almost ran directly into Wood. “Harry! There you are. Glad to see you up and about.”

“Worried you were going to have to replace me, Ollie?” Harry said.

“Never,” Wood replied. “But we have to replace your broomstick. There wasn’t much left of your Nimbus, after all. Shame, that.”

Harry’s heart sank at the reminder. “Yeah, that broom served me well for years.”

“As ways for brooms to go out go, exploding under a Seeker who manages to catch the Snitch _anyway_ isn’t bad,” Wood offered.

“Well, next Hogsmeade trip I’ll have to order a new broom,” Harry mused. “There’s one coming up right before Christmas break, isn’t there?”

Wood frowned. “How did you know? They’ve only posted the notice an hour ago.”

“Lucky guess,” Harry lied. “After all, people have to do their shopping sometime.”

Oliver seemed satisfied by the answer. “What are you looking to get?”

“Well, I suppose I could get a Two Thousand and One like the Slytherins have, or maybe one of the new Cleansweeps,” Harry said. “We’ll have to see.”

“Harry!” Sirius called as he rounded the corner. “I see the cannonball to the back didn’t slow you down much.”

“Sirius, you know something like a broken spine wouldn’t keep me down,” Harry replied.

Oliver’s eyes were flicking back and forth between Harry and Sirius. “Well, I suppose you should know, Sirius is my godfather.” Oliver’s jaw dropped. “We keep it quiet around here, no need to raise any accusations of nepotism.”

“Ah, that’s my little disappointment,” Sirius said proudly, pinching Harry’s cheek.

Harry slapped his hand away. “Hey, quit it.”

Oliver was staring openmouthed at the two. “Disappointment?” He finally said.

“Yeah,” Sirius said innocently. “Isn’t that what every loving parent refers to their offspring as? My mother always called me that. Well, that and ‘no son of mine,’ but I always figured she was joking about that. Great sense of humor on that old hag.”

Oliver finally shook himself. “Erm, right. Harry, I’m going to go, so let me know what you decide, yeah?” The seventh-year didn’t quite run away, but was determinedly powerwalking down the hall and out of sight.

“I’m glad you’re all right, Harry,” Sirius said quietly. “I saw that Bludger hit you, and…well, I’m not sure who cast the spell to slow you down first, me, McGonagall, or Dumbledore.”

“Relax, Pomfrey fixed me right up,” Harry replied, spreading his arms to show off he was in one piece. “Let’s everyone gang up on the little orphan boy because he makes one mistake and breaks his spine. I’m just depressed about my Nimbus.”

“Right!” Sirius brightened. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Come on, I’ve got a catalogue from Quality Quidditch Supplies in my office, you can look through it while I skive off on grading the seventh-years’ essays.” At Harry’s reproachful look, Sirius sighed. “There’s nothing that says I have to grade them right away! I checked!”

“I thought you said Remus was the one who checked for loopholes,” Harry chuckled as they headed down the stairs.

“Well, he did, but I learned it from him,” Sirius replied. “There were certain things I just couldn’t be trusted with. A little before James and Lily’s wedding, James asked me if I’d organize his bachelor party. I just went ‘Don’t you mean your stag party?’ and laughed for about five minutes straight until James asked Remus to do it instead.” Harry snorted out a laugh. “Then there was the time I ate James’s homework because he entered me in a dog show.”

“Did you win?”

“Made it to the final round, but you wouldn’t believe what they expect you to do to get that ribbon,” Sirius griped. “I lost to this black poodle. Come to think of it, that may have been my cousin Narcissa’s poodle…”

The two entered Sirius’s office, the Animagus still telling stories as Harry flipped idly through the catalogue. Sirius paused mid-story, his face brightening slightly. “And I just realized something. You and Neville were both born at the end of July, 1980, right?” Harry nodded, and Sirius snickered. “I knew they had a good time at that wild Halloween party I threw in 1979.”

—ML—

“All right, I think I’ve got everyone’s orders,” Harry muttered, shuffling the sheaves of parchment he had received after posting a notice on the House bulletin board.

“I think it’s sweet that you’re doing that,” Hermione remarked. “All those first- and second-years would miss out on Hogsmeade completely otherwise.”

“Just hope you don’t expect help carrying all that back,” Ron chuckled. “You’ve got what, four dozen boxes of Honeydukes chocolate to juggle?”

Harry tapped the bookbag he had hanging off one shoulder. “Expanded and featherlight, courtesy of one very impressive young witch.” Hermione blushed fiercely.

“I still say you should have charged them,” Sirius said from right behind them. Harry squawked in surprise, nearly dropping his lists. “Catch you by surprise?”

“No, I was planning on doing exactly that at that moment,” Harry replied. “You should wear a bell!”

“Sorry,” Sirius said, not sounding sorry at all. “I’m meeting a few of the other professors for drinks.”

The group found their way to Hogsmeade and split up to do their Christmas shopping. A few hours of inspired purchases later, Harry dropped a rucksack that had what seemed to be two-thirds of Honeydukes’ stock under the table Hermione and Ron were sitting at, spotting Neville at the bar talking with a pair of fourth-year Ravenclaws. “I’ll get the first round,” Ron volunteered.

“Got a crush on Rosmerta?” Harry teased. Ron flushed, and Harry shrugged. “No shame unless you act like a fool about it.”

Neville joined them for the second round, and Harry spotted Sirius drinking with Hagrid, Flitwick, and McGonagall off in a different part of the pub. The group passed most of the day in there, swapping stories with other Hogwarts students and Rosmerta.

With no condemned hippogriffs, escaped convicts, or soul-sucking creatures of pure evil (besides Snape) in or around the castle, the remainder of the winter term passed quietly and with a minimum of fuss. Far more students elected to stay for the holidays than Harry remembered, although the lack of dementors around the castle grounds may have been a factor. Neville, Seamus, and Dean had all left for the holidays, leaving Ron and Harry with the dormitory to themselves.

Harry woke early on Christmas, ducking the thrown pillow from Ron by inches. “Oi! Presents!”

“What’s your rush?” Harry asked, stretching and tossing the pillow back at Ron. “They’ll still be there in a few minutes.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” Ron gestured helplessly. “Presents.”

Harry shrugged, grabbing his glasses. He slit the paper he recognized as coming from Molly Weasley’s supply closet and found a brilliantly scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front that he immediately tugged on over his pajamas.

“Maroon _again_ ,” Ron moaned, holding up a sweater and a pair of socks. “When will she learn it’s just not my color?”

“You think she might be colorblind?” Harry asked. “Maybe she thinks they’re green instead?”

Ron paused. “That…would make a lot of sense, but really? Would green clash any less with my hair?”

“Point,” Harry conceded around a mouthful of Weasley nut brittle. Ron gasped as he opened another package, a set of Gryffindor Quidditch robes opening in his hands. “That’s a first-line uniform,” Harry said faintly. “Wood sent that to you?”

Ron scrambled for the packaging, finding a note taped to it. “It was Wood. ‘When I graduate, you’re Keeper. Just believe in yourself and you’ll never let one by.’” Ron looked up at Harry. “We _have_ been training a lot, haven’t we? I mean, I just figured Wood was expecting the Slytherins to take him out before the match.”

Harry grinned. “I didn’t think he would do this, but you’re as good a Keeper as I’ve ever seen, Ron.” Then he spotted a familiar long, thin package underneath an advanced Runes textbook Hermione had gotten him, and his mouth went dry. His hands shaking slightly, Harry ripped the parcel open.

A Firebolt tumbled out onto his bedspread, and Ron’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Harry said. “I had talked with Sirius about getting a new broom, I thought he would go for a Two Thousand and One, that’s what we agreed was best, but…” He glanced at the registration number stenciled on the handle. It wasn’t the same as his old broom, but the odds of getting the same one were low. Harry held out a hand over the broomstick. “ _Up_.” It leapt into his hand instantly, and Harry let out a slow breath. “I can’t believe he sprang for this.” Digging through the packaging, Harry found the card. “It’s from Sirius _and_ Remus. That makes a little more sense – this is an _international_ standard broom! These things cost a fortune!”

Hermione came in, wearing her dressing gown and carrying Crookshanks, who was looking very grumpy with a string of tinsel tied around his neck. Her eyes widened as she saw the broom. “Oh, _Harry_! Who sent you _that_?”

Harry stared at her. “I’ll give you two guesses, and one of them isn’t Ron.”

Hermione scowled at him. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

Harry paused, patting down his pajamas. “I had it here a second ago…” Ron snorted out a laugh, and Harry ran his hand down the Firebolt’s handle. “Sirius and Remus went in on it together. I didn’t expect…” He broke off before he could say ‘to ever ride a Firebolt again,’ finishing after a moment’s pause with “them to be so extravagant.”

“Well they’re your family, or close enough,” Ron said with a shrug. Harry paused. Did he think of Sirius and Remus as family? Did he even know what thinking of someone as family was like? “Aren’t they?”

“I…yeah, you’re right,” Harry said. “They are.” He set the broom down on his bed. “And you know, you two are as well, right?”

Hermione blushed brightly. “I…er…we know, Harry.”

“You haven’t exactly made a secret out of how you feel about us, you know,” Ron said.

Harry clamped his mouth shut and crossed his arms sulkily. “Well excuse me for being sentimental! Let’s all gang up on the orphan!”

“Oh, come off it,” Ron said, pitching a balled-up piece of wrapping paper at Harry’s head. “Can I have a go on your Firebolt?”

“Sure, once Wood stops drooling on it,” Harry replied. “Hermione?”

“The only way you’d get me on that thing is at wandpoint,” Hermione said primly.

“We’ll make a flier out of you yet, Hermione,” Ron replied with a grin.

—ML—

Winter turned to spring, and Harry realized belatedly he had been having the most relaxing school year he had ever had at Hogwarts. Pettigrew had long since been imprisoned, removing any timely source of enmity between Ron and Hermione. With nobody who truly hated him nearby (besides Snape, who could still be seen skulking around the grounds every so often) and Slytherin already defeated in a Quidditch match, Harry had little reason to worry about his safety. Wood still had them practicing three nights a week, but even he couldn’t find fault in Harry’s technique – or his new broom – and Harry usually wound up orbiting above the pitch to watch the others practice or to help train the reserve team. Gryffindor had utterly flattened Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match in March, Harry out-speeding Cedric on his Firebolt and pulling out a two-hundred to thirty win barely twenty minutes into the game.

For lack of other things to occupy his time, Harry threw himself into his studies, impressing even Hermione with his dedication. His advanced Transfiguration and Charms work had progressed to dueling practice, and while Harry no longer took part in the Dueling Club that Flitwick had continued with Sirius’s help, even a low-intensity practice duel with Flitwick or McGonagall usually left him panting, sweating, and bruised.

Exams were approaching, and while Harry privately doubted it was even possible to fail one’s third year the studying mania had overtaken Hermione once again. The only one who seemed more anxious than Hermione was Percy, although the level of stress Hermione was under was markedly less than Harry had seen in the past, having successfully talked her out of taking a courseload that would require time travel. Harry’s growing acting ability was severely strained when he attempted to appear to study for exams, but he made a game effort despite his studying consisting mostly of reviewing things he had forgotten but vaguely remembered being on the exams before. Most of that time had been washed out of his memory by the following brushes with death from that year, but after referencing his notes most of the old knowledge began to shake loose. Studying for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes gave him a new appreciation for Hermione’s notes, his limited experience with the subjects before The Trip proving vital as he sought to keep up with the material in the fashion others had come to expect from him.

Wood began working them harder than ever before in practice as the final match of the season – Gryffindor’s showdown with Ravenclaw – approached. Five nights a week, the maximum McGonagall would allow, an observer could have seen the Gryffindor Quidditch team zipping around the pitch, pulling off increasingly complex plays Wood had devised in the name of ‘endurance training’ in case the final match of Wood’s school career ran long.

“He’s determined to win even if it kills us,” Fred groaned as he pulled off his Quidditch robes after a particularly grueling practice.

“He keeps this up and we’ll drop dead before we ever get to the match,” George replied, working a kink out of his batting shoulder. “Maybe we should just kill him and save some time.”

“And waste all the time and effort we’ve already invested in the Cup?” Fred asked. “Are you mental? The only reason I’m still standing is because we’ve got to see this through at this point.”

“Please,” Harry scoffed. “Ravenclaw’s Keeper is useless and I can out-fly Cho any day. If you two can keep the Bludgers off the girls, Ravenclaw doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Just try not to explode your broom this time, yeah?” Fred asked, cuffing Harry playfully on the head.

“No promises,” Harry said with a laugh. “Wood might be all right with that, provided I catch the Snitch first.”

“Not quite,” Wood said from the door of the showers, toweling his hair dry. “As much as I want to win, that would be a waste of an amazing broom. Now, if you were to get knocked off your broom and _then_ caught the Snitch, now that…” He ducked as several trainers were thrown at him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Don’t break the team captain!”

—ML—

It seemed as if the whole school had turned out for the game, and Wood sounded particularly strained in his pre-game pep talk. There was the usual tension in the air, but a sense of finality pervaded the locker room as everyone realized this would be the last time the Gryffindors flew with this lineup. Finally, he simply nodded to his team, then jerked his head at the door.

Harry punched Oliver in the shoulder as he passed, leading the way out. “Knock Wood.” There were some giggles from behind him, and each flyer paused to cuff him in the shoulder as they passed him.

Cheers from the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs nearly drowned out the catcalls from the Slytherins and Ravenclaws as they took to the field.

“Hey,” Harry called, catching his team’s attention as they headed towards the center of the pitch. “Last match with Ollie. Let’s make it a good one, yeah?” Wood gave him a shaky smile, and Harry tossed him a mock salute, his broom over his shoulder.

Less than five minutes later, Harry had caught the Snitch, the tiny gold ball flitting low along the ground. Cho had followed him into his dive, but her old Comet 260 didn’t stand a chance against the Firebolt’s speed. The stadium exploded in cheers, and Harry pulled into a tight victory loop, holding the Snitch aloft as Cho pulled out of her dive, cursing.

Then Wood was speeding toward him, half-blinded by tears; he seized Harry around the neck and sobbed unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry felt two large thumps as Fred and George hit them; then Angelina’s, Alicia’s, and Katie’s voices, “We’ve won the Cup! We’ve won the Cup!” Tangled together in a many-armed hug, the Gryffindor team sank, yelling hoarsely, back to earth.

“All for you, Cap,” Harry shouted to Wood, slapping him on the shoulder with his free hand as the supporters flooded onto the field.

—ML—

The party in the Gryffindor Common Room lasted until three in the morning, when McGonagall reluctantly shut things down and ordered everyone to bed. Wood was heading up the stairs to his dormitory when Harry whistled, catching his attention. “I got something for you,” the boy said, holding out his hand.

Wood took the proffered object, frowning slightly. “A Snitch? You kept the Snitch from the game?”

“I caught it, I might as well keep it,” Harry said. “It’s yours. When you’re off playing professional Quidditch, remember your old team.”

Wood looked down at the tiny ball in his hand, a smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, Harry. You’re one of the best players I’ve ever flown with. I appreciate it.”

“Hope you’ll appreciate it as much when you’re flying for Puddlemere and I’m flying for the Tornados,” Harry said.

Wood gasped, clutching his chest. “Traitor!”

—ML—

The remainder of the year was a blessedly quiet experience. Care of Magical Creatures was startlingly easy, considering the exam consisted of ‘ride on the hippogriff and don’t get murdered.’ Transfiguration and Charms were simple enough, as Harry had already proven time and again that he could charm a desk featherlight and turn a teapot into a tortoise. Then came Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. It was, he thought, a bit funny that the fields of study that had sent him back in time were the only ones he didn’t have to feign difficulty at.

Potions came that afternoon, and Harry deliberately tossed too much of one ingredient into his cauldron to make his Confusing Concoction a bit runnier than it should have been. Slughorn raised an eyebrow at his move, but remained silent as he took notes.

Then came Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower, and History of Magic the following Wednesday morning, which Harry regarded as a particularly cruel trick of scheduling. Morning exams were one thing, but putting the most boring subject taught at Hogwarts the morning directly after a midnight exam was just inhumane, particularly in the stifling classroom that left one’s eyelids drooping from the heat and humidity.

Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking-hot sun, where Harry passed around sunblock to a pack of very grateful classmates before they wrestled with the plants.

Their second to last exam, on Thursday morning, was Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sirius had taken a page out of Remus’s book and had built a similar obstacle course to what Harry remembered, although in a different order. Harry deliberately took his time, but still finished at a record speed, blowing past the boggart in the trunk in seconds.

“Well done, Harry,” Sirius said as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. “Full marks.”

Harry flicked an imaginary bit of dust from his shoulder. “You expected anything less?”

—ML—

Between Gryffindor’s steamroller showing in the Quidditch Cup, the lack of biased professors, and no massive point losses beyond the usual shenanigans from the Weasley twins, Gryffindor House had won the House championship for the third year running. Sirius announced his retirement from the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, to groans from some of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and most of the Gryffindors.

“So what are you up to this summer?” Ron asked.

“Mostly? Doing some makeup work. I guess signing all my exams as ‘Dark Lord Happy-Pants’ was a bad idea.” Ron burst out laughing, and Harry grinned. “It’s going to be an interesting summer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fourth year, finally. Now things get interesting.

Harry came shooting out of the Floo, managing to land on one knee instead of his face. His trainers squeaked on the floorboards as he came skidding forward, Sirius stepping out a moment later. “It astounds me how someone so graceful on a broom can be so clumsy when it comes to other magical transportation.”

“Is this your way of proposing?” Ginny asked. “You _are_ down on one knee.”

“Good one, Gin,” Sirius said as Harry made multiple rude gestures at the both of them.

“Ron, Mum! The others are here!”

Ron was the first one into the room, practically bouncing on his heels. “We got the tickets!”

“I told you Ludo Bagman was good for a favor,” Sirius said. “Where’s Arthur?”

“Out in the shed.”

‘Shed’ was no longer appropriate to describe the building Arthur Weasley was using to hold his projects. The low-slung building resembled a long bunker more than a shed, with a large sliding door on one side that lay half-open. Flashes of light emanated from inside the building, and as Harry and Sirius rounded the door, they saw Arthur bent over the engine block of a towncar, his wand in hand. “Arthur!” There was a bang as the man jerked upright, his head hitting the raised bonnet of the towncar, and Sirius winced. “Sorry!”

“I learned the first time,” Arthur said, pulling his head out of the engine compartment to reveal he was wearing a bicycle helmet.

“What are you doing with this?” Sirius asked, bopping a fist on the roof of the car. “Trying to undercut the Ministry’s supplier?”

Arthur nodded, pulling off the helmet. “We can modify a better car for cheaper, but we’re having trouble with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.”

“Your old department coming after you?” Sirius asked.

Arthur shrugged, shutting the bonnet and wiping grease from his hands. “Not exactly. Officially, they allow experimentation with the proper licenses.”

“Which are all available with the right bribes,” Harry said happily. “I love politicians. They’re so reliably corrupt.”

“You’re a very odd teenager,” Arthur admitted. “But you’re also my employer, so I’ll let that go. Officially, they ‘encourage responsible innovation in magical transportation,’ but the only thing they’ve approved for public use since Muggles invented cars has been the Knight Bus.”

Harry paused. “Er, I took a ride in a magically modified cab when I got to King’s Cross to take the Express my first year.”

“The only thing approved for public use has been the Knight Bus,” Arthur repeated. “There is, however, certainly not a large underground group of witches and wizards who have modified Muggle artifacts. I most certainly did not avoid contact with them during my time at the Ministry, but we absolutely have not recruited several of them.”

“Well of course not,” Harry said with a straight face. “Because that would be wrong.”

“Well, we’ll get the Wizengamot to see reason eventually,” Sirius said, not bothering to hide his grin. “The Ministry may not like new, but they certainly like cheap.”

“Chances are Fudge won’t even know the difference,” Harry mused. “He really doesn't know much of what goes on around him. How did he get to be Minister again?"

"He's easily bribed and Dumbledore didn't want the job," Sirius said flatly. “How do you think Potter Enterprises got off the ground?”

That evening, several tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs. Weasley’s excellent cooking, and the Weasley clan, the Potter-Black-Lupin trio, and Hermione were sitting down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. Harry listened rather than talked as he helped himself to chicken and ham pie, boiled potatoes, and salad.

Nearby, Lupin and Arthur were discussing work. “I’ve got a meeting with Perkins at my old office next week,” Arthur was saying. “Does your team have the reports ready?”

“We’re ready,” Lupin said confidently. Harry felt a brief surge of pride at the look in Remus’s eyes, at providing the man a steady job he didn’t have to worry about his condition compromising.

On the other side of Lupin and Arthur, Percy was telling Molly all about his report on cauldron bottoms.

“I’ll have it ready by Tuesday,” Percy was saying pompously. “That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time, I mean, its extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman –”

“I like Ludo,” said Mr. Weasley mildly from his seat nearby. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favor a few years back: His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble – a lawnmower with unnatural powers – I smoothed the whole thing over.”

“Oh Bagman’s likable enough, of course,” said Percy dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department…I can’t see other heads losing a member of their department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”

Harry paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “A Ministry worker went missing?”

“Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” said Mr. Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha’s gotten lost plenty of times before now – though must say, if it was someone in my department, I’d be worried…”

“Oh Bertha’s hopeless, all right,” said Percy as ice flooded Harry’s gut. “I hear she’s been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she’s worth… but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her, but he just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However,” Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine, “we’ve got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we’ve got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.” Percy cleared his throat significantly and looked down toward the end of the table where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. “You know the one I’m talking about, Father.” He raised his voice slightly. “The top-secret one.”

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered to Harry and Hermione, “He’s been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons.”

Harry winked at Ron. “Been trying to get you to ask, huh? Waste of time, isn’t it? We already know.”

Percy frowned. “How would you know?”

“Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” Harry chided. “Besides, if I knew something you didn’t, why would I be so childish as to try to lord it over you?” Percy flushed brightly, and Ron grinned.

“So how are we getting to the Cup?” Harry asked innocently. “I doubt we could walk.”

“Oh, no, that’s miles away,” Arthur said, launching into an explanation of the logistics behind the Cup, finishing with a “thankfully, we’ve got just enough people to Side-Along Apparate everyone there.”

“Beats a Portkey,” Lupin admitted. “Too bad the Grangers couldn’t come.”

“They couldn’t get away,” Hermione said softly. “And the ‘anti-Muggle precautions’ would mean they wouldn’t get close anyway.”

—ML—

The assemblage landed in the woods, one underage witch or wizard to an Apparation-capable wizard. The group checked in with the poor Memory Charm-addled Muggle before heading to their campsite. There were several minutes of comedy as Hermione and Remus – who had been camping before – helped Arthur set up the tents, while Sirius and Harry stood by the sidelines and heckled until Remus was ready to hex them both. Payback ensued when the werewolf sent the three fourth-years to fetch some water, and by the time they returned Sirius was animatedly conversing with Ludo Bagman, who had found their campsite.

“Ah, Ludo, this is my last son, Ron, and his friends, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter.” Bagman’s eyebrow went up, and his eyes flicked upwards to the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Everyone,” Mr. Weasley continued, “this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it’s thanks to him we’ve got such good tickets.” Bagman beamed and waved his hand as if to say it had been nothing. “Fancy a cuppa, Ludo?”

“Love a brew,” Bagman replied as Percy brought the kettle over.

—ML—

“What’s happening at Hogwarts, Dad?” Fred asked, finally breaking as Bagman left.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Mr. Weasley, smiling.

“It’s classified information, until such time as the Ministry decides to release it,” said Percy stiffly.

“Then why have you been trying to get us to ask?” Harry asked pointedly. “Besides, I’ve known probably since before you did.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Really? And how would that be?”

“Dumbledore told me,” Harry said flatly. Percy’s cheek twitched. “I hope you know, it’s the worst-kept secret in England right now. Fred and George are probably the only ones who don’t know.”

“Well you can’t say _that_ and not tell us,” Fred insisted.

“Us?” George asked.

Fred’s lip quivered. “You wouldn’t tell your own brother?” George stared at him, and Fred’s lip stopped quivering. “I should have known that wouldn’t work on you.”

“Doesn’t work on Mum,” George said with a shrug. “Harry’s full of it, by the way, I don’t know what it is.”

—ML—

Harry had learned many skills over time, but one of his most treasured was the ability to listen to a boring lecturer just enough to appear to be paying attention. As Percy prattled on about cauldron bottoms to kill time before the Cup began, Harry made the right noises of agreement at the right times as he watched the crowds.

“What are you working on again?” said Harry.

“A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” said Percy smugly. “We’re trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin – leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year –”

“That’ll change the world, that report will,” said Ron. “Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks.”

Percy went slightly pink.

“You might sneer, Ron,” he said heatedly, “but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow bottomed products that seriously endanger –”

“He’s right,” Harry said suddenly. Ron blinked at him in surprise.

Percy looked even more surprised. “Well of course I’m right,” he said, recovering quickly.

“I mean, remember how many cauldrons Neville melted our first year, back before we got a decent Potions Professor? How many of those were accidents that a thicker cauldron could have avoided?”

“I don’t think that’s very fair to Neville,” Hermione said crossly. “He hasn’t melted a cauldron since our first year.”

Further discussion was cut off by the arrival of the Malfoys. “Ah, here’s Lucius,” Fudge said.

“Ah, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. “How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?”

“How do you do, how do you do?” said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr. – well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind. And let’s see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?”

Mr. Malfoy’s cold gray eyes swept over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row. “Good lord, Arthur,” he said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

“How – how nice,” said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Lucius’s eyes met Harry’s, and Harry leaned forward very deliberately, rubbing his right knee with satisfaction. Lucius’s face darkened, and for a brief moment Harry thought violence might actually erupt in the Top Box. However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn’t dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats. Draco shot Harry, Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settled himself between his mother and father.

“Slimy gits,” Ron muttered as he, Harry, and Hermione turned to face the field again. Next moment, Ludo Bagman charged into the box.

A few moments later, the Bulgarian Veela took the field, and Harry stuffed his fingers in his ears as they started to dance. Ron stood up, and Harry kicked him in the back of the knee, dropping him back into his seat with an annoyed look. The redhead gave him an annoyed look, but shook his head once the music stopped. “What was that?”

“Veela,” Harry replied. “When they dance, men do…ridiculous things.”

“And that would be different for you two…how?” Ginny asked.

“Unless you fancy seeing us take a swan dive from this box, I think we’ll be ignoring the lovely ladies down there,” Harry replied. “Now hush, Ireland’s…” A shower of gold pieces nearly hit them in the heads, and Harry ducked reflexively. “Leprechauns.”

“Who decided raining gold would be a great idea?” Hermione asked, her arms over her head.

Ron had upended his hat, trying to catch some of falling metal. “I don’t know, but I love it!”

“Don’t waste your time,” Harry said, tugging at his elbow. “It vanishes after a time.” Ron’s face fell.

—ML—

“Damn, but they’re fast,” Harry mumbled to himself, watching as the Ireland Chasers all but danced through the air. Harry knew he was no slouch on a broom, but even on their best day the Hogwarts team could never have matched Ireland’s offense. None of the Chasers seemed to hold the Quaffle for more than a few seconds, passing it back and forth as easily as if they were standing next to each other on the ground.

The match had unfolded differently from the original timeline, but Harry had expected changes. Krum had still taken a Bludger to the face, but much earlier in the game, as Ireland’s brutal offense led the match one-sixty to ten. The Bulgarians didn’t stand a chance – they had made it this far on the strength of their Seeker alone, and Ireland’s Chasers were scoring faster than Krum could find the Snitch. Krum’s Wronski Feint had been particularly rough, and Lynch had taken longer than Harry remembered to take to the air again. Ireland scored again, and Harry whistled loudly, keeping an eye out for the Snitch as any good Seeker would.

As if on cue, the two Seekers suddenly soared straight up, both screaming skywards at maximum speed, Lynch in close pursuit of Krum, who had clearly stopped screwing around. Despite the blood streaming from his nose, Krum rolled into a tight loop, his arm outstretched. Through his Omnioculars, Harry could see the Snitch’s wings beating futilely against the Bulgarian’s grip.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn’t seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

“IRELAND WINS!” Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. “KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WINS – good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

The teams made their way through the Top Box, the Cup was presented, and as the Irish team took another lap of honor around the pitch, Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, “Quietus.” He cleared his throat, then said hoarsely, “they’ll be talking about this one for years. A really unexpected twist, that… shame it couldn’t have lasted longer… Ah yes… yes, I owe you… how much?” Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched.

“Just be sure you don’t get your real gold mixed up with your leprechaun gold,” Harry said loudly. “After all, you wouldn’t want to accidentally welch on a bet, especially in front of your boss.” Bagman flinched, reaching into a different pocket to pay off Fred and George. Fudge, as usual, didn’t appear to be paying attention.

When they finally reached the tents, nobody felt like sleeping at all, and given the level of noise around them, Mr. Weasley agreed that they could all have one last cup of cocoa together before turning in. They were soon arguing enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed. Hermione and Ginny went into the next tent, and Harry and the rest of the Weasleys changed into pajamas and clambered into their bunks. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing and the odd echoing bang.

“Oh, am I glad I’m not part of the Ministry anymore,” muttered Mr. Weasley sleepily. “I wouldn’t fancy having to go and tell the Irish they’ve got to stop celebrating.”

Patting down his bunk, Harry checked that his jeans, trainers, and wand were all within easy reach. Ron was already snoring in the bottom bunk, but Harry lay awake, waiting for the trouble to begin.

It took longer than he had expected – perhaps he had actually slept the first time around? As soon as the singing stopped and the screams began, Harry pulled on his clothes and shook Arthur. “Mister Weasley, I think there’s something going on.”

“Wuzzamatter,” the man groaned, perking up when he heard more screaming and his voice going tight. “Harry. Wake Ron and the others. Now.”

Harry stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling sharply. Ron groaned. “What is it?”

“Something’s happening, everyone get up,” Harry called. “Now! Move it!” He turned back to Arthur, who had already pulled jeans on over his pajamas. “You get the girls, I’ll get this lot ready to move.”

Either still being half-asleep or simply too focused on the larger situation, Arthur didn’t question Harry’s sudden calm. “Bill, Charlie, Percy! Get your wands and follow me!” The three eldest Weasley boys were ready in less than a minute, by which time Arthur had roused the girls and Harry had managed to get Fred and George moving.

“It can’t be,” Sirius said softly as they joined him outside. “Harry. Get your friends and get into the woods. Moony, which side you want?”

“Left flank was always my strong suit,” Remus said coldly. “You got the right?”

“What’s going on?” Ron asked.

Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene. The first time Harry had seen them, he hadn’t recognized the masks. With the benefit of a trip back in time, Harry recognized Death Eater masks. The hoods and cloaks were different, but there was no mistaking the masks.

“Something I thought we were done with,” Sirius said. “Arthur, are your boys any good in a fight?”

“Good enough,” Arthur said immediately. “How bad is this?”

“Bad enough,” Sirius replied. “Bring two of them with us. Send one with the kids into the woods.”

“Percy, take them into the woods, keep them together,” Arthur ordered. “We’ll come for you when it’s safe. Get going. Now.”

“Sirius,” Harry started.

“No argument,” Sirius snapped. “Get into the woods!”

“I know,” Harry shot back. “Just watch your back out there!”

“C’mon,” said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Percy, and George followed. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the center, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall. Sirius and Remus had vanished into the night, but the Weasley contingent had joined the Ministry wizards.

“Lumos,” Harry muttered, lighting their path a moment before Ron nearly tripped over a tree root. “Watch your step.” A fireball exploded near the crowd, and Harry shook his head. “That’ll be Sirius intervening.”

“Guess he’s not afraid to see those Muggles fall, eh?” Malfoy’s voice came.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Harry snapped, wondering how he managed to run right past the boy twice in two timelines.

“Not really,” the boy said casually. “I suppose Daddy Weasel told all you to hide?”

“I notice you’re hiding too,” Harry shot back.

“Just watching from a safe distance,” Malfoy said. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?”

“Bet you would,” Harry growled. “They’re drunk, it’s dark, I doubt they could recognize an elephant, let alone a Muggleborn. But you’d be sure to help them, wouldn’t you?”

“Harry, come on,” Ron urged. More spells cracked through the air, and Harry ducked as they pushed deeper into the woods. After a few minutes of moving, Harry grabbed Percy by the arm. “Get the Aurors!”

Percy stared at him, not understanding. “What?”

“Apparate to the Ministry! Get the Aurors!” Percy looked at him blankly, and Harry hauled him around, making him look at the floating Muggles. “Is that legal? I doubt it! Go!” Percy shook himself, vanishing with a crack of Disapparation. “Ron, grab Ginny and the Gruesome Twosome and let’s go!”

“Who put you in charge?” Ron asked as they hurried deeper into the woods.

“We can whip ‘em out and measure off later,” Harry replied. “Right now, let’s just get out of the way, shall we?”

A huddle of teenagers in pajamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a girl with thick curly hair turned and said quickly, “Oü est Madame Maxime? Nous l’avons perdue –”

“Er – what?” said Ron.

“They lost someone named Madame Maxime,” Hermione translated. “Beauxbatons?”

The girl eyed Hermione. “Ogwarts?”

“Désolé, nous ne l'avons pas vue,” Hermione replied.

“You speak French?” Harry asked as they hurried along.

“Enough to get by.” Harry tugged them down a different twist in the path, ignoring the Veela and a pack of admirers as Fred, George, and Ginny tried to keep up.

“I hope Sirius and Remus are all right,” Ron said as they emerged into a clearing.

“Those were Death Eater masks those idiots were wearing,” Harry replied softly.

“You-Know-Who’s followers?” Fred asked. “Here?”

“He’s not dead, you know,” Harry said. “He’s not here, those people are just drunk and decided it’d be a great idea to mess with some Muggles, but they just pissed off half the Ministry and two veterans of the last war.”

It seemed as though an hour passed, spellfire occasionally cracking through the air. Suddenly, Arthur Weasley Apparated next to them, making Ron jump. “How’d you do that?” the boy asked.

“You really think I’d send you into the woods without a way to find you?” the man asked, pointing at Ron’s watch. “It’s got a tracking charm on it.” Arthur looked badly winded, and a nasty bruise was forming under one eye.

Ron grinned. “Did you get them?”

“No, most of them Disapparated once Percy showed up with the Aurors and the fight started turning, but there’s people hurt. Sirius and Remus jumped a few, they’re in custody, but Remus took a hard hit.”

“Is he all right?” Harry asked stridently.

Arthur nodded. “He’s injured, but not badly. They’re all back at the tents.”

Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, exposing burns across his chest that may or may not have been there before the evening’s fight, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose and holding his shattered glasses in his off hand. Sirius barely looked ruffled, but Remus was laying in Ron’s bunk, breathing shallowly. “Remus!” Harry shouted as they entered the tent.

“I’m all right,” the werewolf said. “Just cracked a few ribs, I think.”

“Told you to work on your ducking,” Sirius chided, fixing Percy’s glasses with a tap of his wand and a muttered spell. “Ten years and you still haven’t learned that your shield spells are brittle. Bill, keep pressure on that cut. Percy, tilt your head forward, let it drain. It’s messy but I don’t think your nose is broken.”

“Tanks,” the boy muttered, pinching a handkerchief around his nose. “You were great out dere, Sirius.”

“I’ve gotten slow,” Sirius admitted. “Arthur, the kids all safe?”

“Every one of them,” Arthur replied, probing at his cheek. “They did better than we did.”

“Good,” Remus groaned, sitting up. “Ooh, I definitely cracked those ribs.”

“Well, let’s get you to St. Mungo’s,” Sirius offered.

“I’d rather not,” Remus admitted. “Not a fan of hospitals.”

“Yeah, I can understand that,” Sirius muttered. “Anyway. Get some rest, everyone. We’ll Apparate back come morning.”

—ML—

The next week passed quietly, Remus hobbling around the flat as his ribs healed and Sirius keeping an eye on the papers for any further signs of Death Eater activity.

The night before returning to Hogwarts, his godfather sat Harry down. “I know you know who those men were,” Sirius began.

“Death Eaters,” Harry replied. “I recognized the masks.”

“I shouldn’t have left you and your friends that night,” Sirius admitted. “But I’ve fought them before. I recognized a few of them, but it’d never hold up in court.”

“Who’d you and Remus manage to catch?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Sirius said. “Just…keep an eye out this year, all right? If those idiots were just drunk and decided to put on the old colors for a night, that’s one thing. But my nose tells me there’s something in the wind.”

Harry grunted. “Sirius, last year at Hogwarts was the safest I’ve had there. Remus got Petrified my second year, and Voldemort – oh come _off_ it, fine – the Dark Dink was living on the back of my Defense Professor’s head my first year.”

“Well, let’s make last year the start of a trend, yeah?” Sirius asked. “Keep yourself safe. My contract was like Moony’s – we were only hired on for a year. I won’t be there to look after you this time.”

“You know I can’t promise that,” Harry said. “I don’t go looking for trouble. It usually comes and finds me all on its own. And with what’s going on at Hogwarts this year, I have a bad feeling I’ll be dragged into it somehow.”

—ML—

The various groups met up at King’s Cross on a rainy morning, the Potter guardians stopping at a pub for an early lunch to give the Weasleys time to catch up.

“I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,” Charlie said, grinning, as he hugged Ginny goodbye.

“Why?” Fred asked keenly.

“Are you going to be in Britain for Christmas?” Harry asked innocently.

Charlie paused. “Let's go with that,” he replied. “After all, if it were for any other reason at all, I wouldn't be supposed to say as it's…what was it… ‘classified information until such time the Ministry sees fit to release it.’”

“Kind of makes you wonder, really, why in the world it's such a big secret. I mean, anyone even vaguely connected with the Ministry knows but the Hogwarts students can’t?” Harry complained.

Charlie eyed him curiously. “How do you know?”

“Dumbledore,” Harry said, having decided to blame Dumbledore for anything he wasn’t supposed to know.

Charlie shrugged. “Well, keep it quiet, will you?”

“No promises,” Harry said.

“You _are_ going to tell us, right?” Ron asked quietly.

“No promises,” Harry repeated.

“You’ll find out this evening, I expect,” said Mrs. Weasley, smiling. “It’s going to be very exciting – mind you, I’m very glad they’ve changed the rules–”

“What rules?” said Ron, Fred, and George together.

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… Now, behave, won’t you? Won’t you, Fred? And you, George?” The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.

“Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!” Fred bellowed out of the window as Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie sped away from them. “What rules are they changing?” But Mrs. Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had Disapparated. Fred immediately rounded on Harry. “All right, I’ve had enough. Spill it! What’s going on at Hogwarts?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,” Harry said sweetly, making a break for the door.

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for them to share. Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, and Luna and Ginny joined them not long after Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Harry settled in. After half an hour or so, Hermione, growing tired of the endless Quidditch talk, buried herself once more in the year’s spellbook, and started trying to learn a Summoning Charm.

“I’m honestly wondering who came up with this scoring system,” Harry mused. “I mean, unless one team scored fifteen goals more than the other, whoever catches the Snitch wins, full stop.”

“It’s tradition,” Ron said. “In _Quidditch Through The Ages_ , it says...” he trailed off, an odd look on his face, before turning to Hermione. “Is this how you feel all the time?”

“Generally, yes.”

“I’m sorry I ever mocked you for being a know-it-all,” Ron said sincerely. “It feels good to know more than the other person.”

“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.” Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Dean and Seamus had left ajar.

“Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” said Harry coolly, opening a copy of the Daily Prophet. “Don’t suppose your dad got caught at the Cup wearing a mask, did he?”

“Watch it, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “You keep running your mouth, it’s going to get you in trouble.”

“Coming from the king of talking shit, that’s pretty ironic,” Neville said.

"Longbottom, why are you such a twat?" Malfoy asked.

“We are what we eat," Harry said blandly, turning his paper over. Neville spat out his bite of Cauldron Cake, Ginny passing him a napkin as she bit her lip to stifle her laughter. "Speaking of which, you should brush your teeth, I can smell the ass on your breath from here.”

Malfoy blinked at him for a moment, before apparently realizing there was no dignified way to respond to that and reaching for his wand, pulling out a banana.

“What is with the fruit with you?” Harry asked. “Is this going to be a thing?”

“Where’s my wand, Potter?”

“I’d check the fruit bowl,” Harry said, waving. “Bye.”

“You’re going to get in real trouble one of these days,” Hermione warned as Malfoy stormed off.

“I’m just getting a head start,” Harry said. “I’m betting I’m going to get dragged into this mess this year.”

“What mess?” Hermione asked.

“That would be telling,” Harry said.

"You're not letting them know about the Triwizard Tournament?" Luna asked.

"Nope," Harry said cheerfully, before pausing. “Wait, how did _you_ know?”

“That would be telling,” the girl said serenely.

Harry squinted at her for a second, before chuckling. “Fair enough.”

Hermione had switched textbooks, flipping through wildly and looking for any mention of the Triwizard Tournament. “I know I’ve heard that name before, I just can’t place it.”

“You’re going to enter?” Ron asked.

“God, no,” Harry replied. “I plan on staying as far away as possible from a tournament that was discontinued because _the death toll got too high_.”

“And you think this is what the Weasleys were talking about?” Hermione asked. “That’s absurd. Dumbledore would never allow them to reinstate it.”

“You remember the part where he told me it was coming, right?” Harry asked. Hermione stared at him, clearly trying to reconcile the notion she had of Dumbledore as the wise protector of the school with the sort of nimrod it would take to allow the Triwizard Tournament to resume with a disaster magnet like Harry around. After roughly a minute of her not blinking, Harry shrugged. “I think I broke her.” He waved a hand in front of her face, yanking it out of the way when she slapped at it.

The compartment door slid open again, a young girl in Hufflepuff robes stepping inside. “I…hi,” she squeaked.

“Hello,” Neville said kindly. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Erm…I’m supposed to deliver these,” she said, holding up several scrolls of parchment. “Neville Longbottom?”

“That’s me,” Neville said, smiling, taking it from her. “Thank you.” The girl blushed violently.

“Hermione Granger?” Hermione held out a hand, thanking her. “Harry P-Potter?”

“Over here,” Harry said.

“I know,” the girl blurted out, before her eyes widened. “I mean…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said. “D’you mind?” The girl held out the scroll, and Harry gently took it a moment before she fled.

Ron stood up, looking out of the compartment after her. “What an odd little girl. What is it?”

“An invitation,” Harry said without even unrolling his.

Neville looked up from his own, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t even read it.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No.”

“Slughorn?”

“Yep.”

“Thought as much,” Harry said. “Remember how I mentioned he likes to find people he thinks are going to be somebody someday?”

“Yeah?”

“This is his way of bringing them into his little social club,” Harry said. “I’m guessing he doesn’t bother inviting people until they reach their fourth year.”

“Then what does he want me for?” Neville asked.

“Probably because you’re an intelligent, capable wizard?” Ginny said.

“And I’m not?” Ron demanded.

“Oh, you are, but Slughorn always has an angle,” Harry said. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I guess.” He looked to Neville and Hermione. “You coming?”

Neville looked hesitant, but nodded. “Yeah. I’m in.” Hermione sighed, but packed her book into her bag and stood up.

“Try not to be too lonely without us, dear,” Harry said to Ron.

“Hurry back, darling,” Ron simpered.

Ginny groaned. “Get out before I’m sick.”

As expected, the compartment where Slughorn was holding court – presumably the only reason he bothered to ride the train – was filled with other people the professor suspected would be influential. Slughorn jumped up when Harry slid the door open, beaming. “Ah, Harry! Neville! And of course, Miss Granger!”

“Professor,” Harry said casually. “Something you needed three more Lions for?”

“Ah, just a bit of lunch,” Slughorn replied. “But first, some introductions. Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course, this is Cormac McLaggen, from your House, I believe.” Harry fought the urge to twitch as Cormac raised a hand in greeting, still irritated by the fractured skull incident. “And this is Marcus Belby, I don’t know whether—?”

They got settled in, and Slughorn began passing around food and making connections. Belby made the mistake – well, from a certain point of view, Harry thought – of admitting he had little connection to his more significant uncle. McLaggen picked up on the implication quickly and leaned into his connections, and Harry tuned out as Slughorn went around the compartment, leveling a friendly interrogation on each person.

Hermione’s inclusion was different, but not surprising, Harry thought. While she had no connections in the magical world that could be leveraged, Slughorn’s years teaching her Potions would have made it abundantly clear that Hermione was going to be somebody.

When he finished probing into her past, Slughorn started in on Neville, and Harry did his best to stare a hole into the side of the man’s head as he spent ten minutes talking less to than at a teenager about the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

“And now, of course, Harry Potter,” Slughorn said. “Where to begin?”

“You could just skip to the end,” Harry suggested. “It’s a long list of nonsense, mostly.”

“Oh ho,” Slughorn chortled, “I wouldn’t say that. There have been rumors for years…I remember when… well — after that terrible night — Lily — James — and you survived — and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary.”

“Well, ‘the word’ never asked me,” Harry said dryly. “I can’t speak to anything that happened when I was a child, and most of what’s happened since I got to Hogwarts…” He winced. “Well, suffice to say I’m pretty sure your insurance rates are going up just by being near me. I give it maybe ten minutes before a pack of lethifolds comes crashing through the window. I don’t usually go looking for trouble, but if you see something blow up, I usually manage to be around somehow.”

“I’ve seen your work, Harry, you’re an exceptional student,” Slughorn said, not noticing how Harry’s jaw tightened. “Rather modest of you, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond, very few students can produce a Patronus at your age…”

Harry tuned out again, trying to figure out a way to leave gracefully without setting Blaise on fire. Hermione and Neville were looking increasingly pained as Slughorn prattled on, and Harry was contemplating Transfiguring Cormac into a sea urchin and letting Slughorn figure it out when the alarm on his watch pinged. Harry started, covering the watch unconsciously with his off hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, shutting off the alarm.

“What is that?” Slughorn asked curiously.

“It’s a watch,” Harry said evasively. “It tells time. Among other things. My friend Ron, his father created it. Waterproof, fireproof, and it’ll tell you if you’re running late for something, that was the noise you heard.”

“Interesting,” Slughorn commented. “Late for something, eh?” He glanced out the window and saw the sun setting. “Ah. That _is_ handy. That would be Ron Weasley, I suppose?”

“Yeah, that’s him,” Harry said.

“Impressive to create something like that,” Slughorn said. “Well, you’d all better go and change into your robes, all of you.” He made a point of offering the opportunity to everyone except Belby to drop in, and Harry tried not to look uncomfortable as they left the compartment.

“You’re better off,” Harry muttered to Belby, who shrugged and headed off in the opposite direction.

“I’m glad that’s over,” muttered Neville. “Strange man, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is a bit,” Harry said. “I don’t think its quite over yet, though. He likes to throw parties, let the ones he thinks will be influential meet and network. It’s an opportunity to mingle and socialize with a bunch of people who have entire bookshelves up their bums.”

“Enjoyed yourself?” Ron asked as they reentered the compartment, already in his school robes.

“Not particularly, no,” Harry said. “Pretentious…” He bit off the word that came to mind. “Reckon he thinks he’s doing us a favor, but I’d rather spend my time doing just about anything else than sit there pretending I care that someone’s uncle knows some politician. That’s what he cares about. Who knows who.”

“Then why’d he invite Hermione?” Ron asked.

Ginny smacked him in the arm. “Ron!”

“I mean, she’s Muggle-born,” Ron said. “I…” he frowned. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Hermione, honest.”

She forced a smile. “I know, Ron.”

“He invited Hermione because he tries to know people he thinks are going to be influential,” Harry explained. “And any fool can tell we’re all going to be working for Hermione in a decade or two.”

Ron snorted. “No argument there.” Hermione raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and Ron tilted his head. “Have you not noticed that you’re brilliant, Hermione? And vaguely terrifying?”

“How am I terrifying?”

“Besides the dentist parents?” Harry asked.

“Well, there’s the whole ‘set a teacher on fire at eleven’ thing,” Ron suggested.

“ _You set a teacher on fire?_ ” Ginny asked. “Hermione! You’re supposed to be the responsible one! What did I miss that year?”

“I did it to help Harry!” Hermione insisted.

“Brilliant,” Ron said. “But scary.”

When the train finally arrived at Hogwarts, rain was sheeting down. “Watch this,” Harry instructed, holding up his wand. “ _Protego inberus_.” Stepping off the train and keeping his wand aloft, Harry grinned at his friends as the rain stopped a few feet over his head, running off to the sides of him. “Modified Shield Charm. Sirius calls it the Umbrella. Come on!”

Protected from the downpour by the charm, the group sloshed through the puddles and mud towards the carriages. “Hi, Hagrid!” Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

“All righ’, Harry?” Hagrid bellowed back, waving. “See yeh at the feast if we don’ drown!”

“Oooh, I wouldn’t fancy crossing the lake in this weather,” said Hermione fervently, shivering against the wind as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. She budged closer to Harry, and he tried not to notice the warmth of her against his side.

—ML—

As the last of the food vanished from the tables, Dumbledore stood again to make the usual start-of-year announcements. Harry’s attention wandered slightly as he recalled what had happened on his first attempt at fourth year. "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year," Dumbledore was saying when Harry finally tuned back in.

“But…but I was going to be opening Keeper!” Ron gasped. The redhead looked around at Fred and George, who were apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbledore went on, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –”

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. Moody stomped into the Great Hall, his wooden leg clumping with every other step. The retired Auror reached Dumbledore, shook hands with him, and spoke briefly, before taking a seat at the staff table. Moody shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. Harry made a mental note, having spent little time with the actual Moody before the old man’s death. Assuming that wasn’t Barty Crouch Jr. having finally made a reappearance, Moody really just was like that.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.” Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome as Hagrid and Dumbledore were the only people applauding in the room. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long pull from it. Harry’s eyes narrowed.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

“You’re JOKING!” Fred blurted out.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. “I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar.”

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly as Slughorn snorted, grinning at Dumbledore beneath his mustache, clearly having heard the joke.

“Er – but maybe this is not the time… no…” said Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.”

“Believe me now?” Harry asked quietly.

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.”

“See?” Hermione hissed back at him. “He wouldn’t let a blood sport happen here.”

“What do you call the sport with the cannonballs flying around at a hundred kilometers an hour?” Harry asked.

“A good time?” Ron suggested.

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

“I’m going for it!” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches. He was not the only person who seemed to be visualizing himself as the Hogwarts champion. At every House table, Harry could see people either gazing raptly at Dumbledore, or else whispering fervently to their neighbors. But then Dumbledore spoke again, and the Hall quieted once more.

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.” There was a rumble of discontent among the students, and Dumbledore raised his voice as he continued. “This is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred’s and George’s mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”

“Dumbledore said there wouldn’t be mortal danger,” Ron pointed out.

“It’s amazing how fast danger can accidentally become mortal danger,” Harry replied. “Besides, this is the same Dumbledore that put a giant three-headed dog behind a single locked door and expected people not to go there because he said to stay away.”

—ML—

The fourth-year quartet, Fred, and George set off for the entrance hall as the students headed for their dormitories, Fred and George debating the ways in which Dumbledore might stop those who were under seventeen from entering the tournament. “Who’s this impartial judge who’s going to decide who the champions are?” Ron asked.

“Dunno,” said Fred, “but it’s them we’ll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George…”

“Dumbledore knows you’re not of age, though,” Ron pointed out.

“Yeah, but he’s not the one who decides who the champion is, is he?” Fred mused. “Sounds to me like once this judge knows who wants to enter, he’ll choose the best from each school and never mind how old they are. It’s Dumbledore trying to stop us giving our names, not this ‘impartial judge.’”

“People have died, though!” said Hermione in a worried voice as they walked through a door concealed behind a tapestry and started up another, narrower staircase.

“Yeah,” said Fred airily, “but that was years ago, wasn’t it? Anyway, where’s the fun without a bit of risk? Hey, Ron, what if we find out how to get ‘round Dumbledore? Fancy entering?”

“What d’you reckon?” Ron asked Harry. “Be cool to enter, wouldn’t it? But I s’pose they might want someone older… Dunno if we’ve learned enough…”

“Not a chance,” Harry said immediately. “Fred, George, I guarantee you Dumbledore’s going to account for an Aging Potion. And the next five plans you come up with. Think outside the box.”

“What box?” Fred asked.

“Figure of speech. Besides, we’re not talking about a ‘bit of risk,’ we’re talking about a tournament that was put to an end because it _killed too many people_. You’re mental if you’re entering.”

—ML—

Harry glanced at the Marauder’s Map, sitting up in his bed with the curtains closed. Malfoy was still in the Slytherin dormitory and hadn’t moved in an hour. He glanced at another part of the map, spotting “Alastor Moody” patrolling the halls on the fourth floor. With a muttered ‘ _nox_ ,’ Harry doused the light from his wand and wiped the Map. He hadn’t really expected Malfoy to show, but Transfiguring the boy into a ferret would have been satisfying.

The next day, debates and speculation about the Triwizard Tournament were rampant. “Who do you think stands a chance of becoming Champion?” Neville asked.

“Well, there’s a couple dozen students here who are contenders,” Harry mused. “Not counting all the idiots who aren’t old enough and want to enter anyway.”

“So you think we’re idiots?” Fred asked irritably.

“Maybe a little,” Harry admitted. “People who want to enter just want the prize money, and maybe the fame. They're not thinking about the competing against the finest Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang has to offer and the chance they could die. They’ve mentioned an impartial judge, which makes me think that it’s not going to be a human that picks the Champions.” At the blank looks he was receiving, Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, back me up here.”

“All humans are biased in some way or another,” Hermione explained. “A truly ‘impartial’ judge like Professor Dumbledore mentioned could be a magical artifact of some sort.”

“What, you think they’ll get the Sorting Hat to do it?” George asked.

“If they do, you’re sunk,” Harry replied. “The Hat knows how old you are, and even if it didn’t, it can read minds. Even modifying your own memories wouldn’t fool it.”

—ML—

Soon came the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with Moody. “But you’re behind – very behind – on dealing with curses,” Moody was saying. “Professor Black covered some, but I’m here to bring you properly up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark –”

“What, aren’t you staying?” Ron blurted out.

Moody’s magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled. “I’m tough, but I’m under no illusions I can break this one-year curse on the position,” Moody said. “Yeah, I’m staying just the one year. Special favor to Dumbledore…One year, and then back to my quiet retirement.” He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together. “So – straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen? A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I’m talking.” Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed Divination horoscope under the desk. “So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?”

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron’s and Hermione’s. After a moment, Harry raised his hand. Moody pointed at Ron, though his magical eye was still fixed on Lavender. “Er,” said Ron tentatively, “my dad told me about one… Is it called the Imperius Curse, or something?”

Moody nodded. “Your father did some time at the Ministry, eh? Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” Moody got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out the glass jar with spiders inside Harry remembered. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders, and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, “ _Imperio_!” Everyone was soon laughing at the spider’s performance – everyone except Moody and Harry.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” he growled. “You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you?” The laughter died away almost instantly. “Total control,” said Moody quietly as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats.” Ron gave an involuntary shudder. “And it would do it. Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse,” said Moody. “Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will. Because that’s the rub, isn’t it? How do you tell when someone was under a spell that gives you total control over another person? The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can.”

“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?” Hermione’s hand flew into the air again and so, to Harry’s slight surprise, did Neville’s. Neville looked surprised at his own daring. “Yes?” said Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Neville.

“There’s one – the Cruciatus Curse,” said Neville in a small but distinct voice. Moody was looking very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

“Your name’s Longbottom?” he said, his magical eye swooping down to check the register again. Neville nodded nervously, but Moody made no further inquiries, merely worked his jaw for a moment. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless, apparently too scared to move.

“The Cruciatus Curse,” said Moody. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea,” he said, pointing his wand at the spider. “ _Engorgio_!”

The spider swelled. It was now larger than a tarantula. Abandoning all pretense, Ron pushed his chair backward, as far away from Moody’s desk as possible. Moody raised his wand again, pointed it at the spider, and muttered, “ _Crucio_!”

At once, the spider’s legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently. There was a sudden crack, like wood splintering, and Harry jerked in surprise, looking over at Neville.

The boy’s hands were clenched on the edge of the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified. Moody raised his wand as Harry noticed a thick crack in the wood of the desk. The spider’s legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch. “ _Reducio_ ,” Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar. “Pain,” said Moody softly. “Agony, really. That one was very popular once too.” His magical eye focused on Neville, and for a brief moment a look of pity flashed across his face. “Right… anyone know any others?”

Harry looked around. From the looks on everyone’s faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione’s hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air. Harry raised his hand again.

“Yes?” said Moody, looking at him.

“The Killing Curse,” Harry said, his jaw set.

Moody’s eyes never left his. He didn’t even bother pulling the third spider out of the jar. “ _Avada Kedavra!_ ”

For a long moment, silence reigned in the classroom. Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor. “Not nice,” he said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there’s no countercurse. There’s no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me. Now, it’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it, but I’m not here to teach you how to do it. You take that sort of attitude out to Durmstrang, but leave your names with the Aurors when you do. Now, if there’s no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you’ve got to know. You’ve got to appreciate what the worst is. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. But you may, and _that’s_ why I’m here. I’ve had both the Imperius and the Cruciatus used on me in the past.” He shook his head at the memory. “Neither is something the average person should ever have to experience. But if we lived in a perfect world, I wouldn’t look like this. Now… those three curses – the Killing Curse, the Imperius, and the Cruciatus – are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills… copy this down…”

They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang - but when Moody had dismissed them and they had left the classroom, a torrent of talk burst forth. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices – “Did you see it twitch?”

“– and when he killed it – just like that!”

Maybe it was the experience of having all three curses used on him at one point or another, or perhaps it was having used them himself, but Harry hadn’t found the lesson nearly as entertaining as the rest of the class seemed to. Hermione had shared a worried glance with Harry as Neville left in a rush, and the trio caught up to him in a side passage. The boy was standing alone halfway up the passage, staring at the stone wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

“Neville?” Hermione said gently.

Neville looked around. “Oh hello,” he said, his voice much higher than usual. “Interesting lesson, wasn’t it? I wonder what’s for dinner, I’m – I’m starving, aren’t you?”

“Neville, are you all right?” said Hermione.

“Oh yes, I’m fine,” Neville gabbled in the same unnaturally high voice. “Very interesting dinner – I mean lesson – what’s for eating?” Ron gave Harry a startled look.

“Bullshit,” Harry snapped, ignoring Hermione’s scowl at his language. “Neville, there’s no shame in admitting that made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Neville said, still not looking at them. “It’s fine.”

The clunking of Moody’s fake leg announced his approach. “It’s all right,” he said to Neville. “Why don’t you come up to my office? Come on… we can have a cup of tea…”

“It’s fine,” Neville said automatically, and Moody squinted his remaining eye at him. “I...all right, Professor.”

Moody turned his magical eye upon Harry. “You all right, are you, Potter?”

“Good enough,” Harry said.

Moody’s blue eye quivered slightly in its socket as it surveyed Harry. Then he said, “You’ve got to know. It seems harsh, maybe, but you’ve got to know. No point pretending… well… come on, Longbottom, I’ve got some stories that might interest you.”

“What was that about?” said Ron, watching Neville and Moody turn the corner.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, looking pensive.

“I do, but it’s not my story to tell,” Harry said. “It’s Neville’s secret to keep.” Hermione squinted at him briefly, but let it go.

“Some lesson, though, eh?” said Ron to Harry as they set off for the Great Hall. “He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn’t he?”

—ML—

Harry was unsure whether to be disturbed or relieved that Moody was following the same lesson plans that Barty Crouch Jr. had used. When he announced that they would be placed under the Imperius Curse, Hermione lodged the protest Harry remembered, only to fold as soon as Moody offered to excuse her.

Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. When Harry’s turn came, he moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, “ _Imperio_!”

As had happened before, the vague floating sensation overtook him, every thought and worry in his head wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. _Do a cartwheel_.

“Bite me,” Harry said flatly.

There was a moment’s silence, before Moody burst out laughing. It sounded like a shale beach gargling. “Now, that’s more like it!” growled Moody’s voice, and suddenly, Harry felt the empty, echoing feeling in his head disappear. “Look at that, you lot… Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn well beat it!”

—ML—

“Yeah, that’s right, smarm up to him, Malfoy,” said Ron scathingly. “I bet Krum can see right through him, though… bet he gets people fawning over him all the time… Where d’you reckon they’re going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry…Harry? Where are you going?”

“Introduce myself,” Harry replied, sauntering over to the Slytherin table.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Nott asked as Harry sat down next to him.

“Being sociable, mostly,” Harry replied without looking at him. “Viktor Krum?”

“Yes,” Krum replied. “Who are you?”

Harry reached up and flipped his bangs up. "The scar basically serves as a nametag.”

"Harry Potter?" Krum inquired.

"See?" Harry said. "No need for an introduction when everyone knows your scar."

Malfoy grumbled. "Go away, Potter."

“Why Malfoy, I almost didn’t see you hiding there,” Harry replied without looking at Malfoy. “You challenge me to a duel and then don’t show up, twice. What’s a bloke got to do to get you to show some backbone?” Malfoy sputtered, but was already getting looks from his housemates – and the Durmstrang students. “Anyway, on to people that actually matter.”

"Vy are you here?" Krum asked, inserting himself back into the conversation.

“Speaking of which,” Harry said. “You probably heard the talking on the way in and already figured out that Hogwarts is pretty celebrity-bonkers. Ignoring the fangirls is a waste of time – it just makes you look mysterious and attractive. Amortentia’s not too huge a problem, but keep a neutralizer handy. There are a few trick steps on the staircases around here, so watch how other people walk. And when you get picked for the Tournament, people are really going to go nuts.”

“You believe I definitely vill be chosen, then?” Krum asked.

“Do you doubt it?” Harry countered.

“There is always a chance,” Krum admitted.

“I suppose there is,” Harry said with a shrug, standing up. “Anyway, welcome to Hogwarts.”

Harry did a double-take as he sat back down at the Gryffindor table, having spotted the two extra seats at the staff table filled. Bagman was there, of course, but Crouch had been replaced by Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Madame Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” there was a smattering of polite applause, “and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Mr. Bagman and Madame Bones have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.” At the mention of the word “champions,” the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.”

The Goblet of Fire was brought forth from the ancient chest, and Harry frowned at the memory of the Goblet spitting forth his name. He had no doubt it would happen again – Voldemort was determined and the crafty fucker wouldn’t give up just because he hadn’t kidnapped Moody this time.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.”

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” said Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

“An Age Line!” Fred Weasley said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn’t it? And once your name’s in that goblet, you’re laughing – it can’t tell whether you’re seventeen or not!”

“You really think an Age Line is the only precaution Dumbledore will have taken?” Harry asked.

“We’ll get in, don’t worry,” Fred insisted.

—ML—

“There are a lot of unanswered questions,” Harry said. “Lot of variables.”

Dumbledore nodded grimly. “How exactly did this play out the last time?”

“Alastor Moody was replaced by Barty Crouch Junior under a Polyjuice Potion, who unfortunately is still running around out there someplace.” Harry scowled. “If we had some way of telling the authorities what happened, maybe that could have been avoided...”

“Harry, focus on the present.”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry, trying to keep my timelines straight.”

“That’s all right, simply do what you can,” Dumbledore said gently.

“From what I managed to piece together after everything was said and done, Pettigrew was making his way back to Voldemort’s side when he ran into Bertha Jorkins, who had found out about Crouch Junior and then been brain-damaged by his father's Memory Charm. Pettigrew handed her over to Voldemort, who broke the charm through torture, and then killed her. Now, I'm not sure exactly when Junior got sprung from his dad’s control, but Voldemort and Pettigrew came to Crouch's house, put _him_ under the Imperius, and jumped Moody on August thirty-first to take his place here at Hogwarts. He looked out for me in a twisted way, making sure I made it through the tasks. Of course, that was so I would be the first to touch the Cup, which he had enchanted into a Portkey. Damn thing dragged me and Cedric Diggory off to Little Hangleton, where Pettigrew killed Cedric and used my blood, his flesh, and Voldemort’s father’s bones to fashion a new body for him. The cup was a two-way Portkey, so I managed to grab Cedric’s body and come back."

“And now, Pettigrew is in Azkaban, Crouch Junior is in the wind, and Voldemort's whereabouts are unknown," Dumbledore finished.

Harry nodded. "Pettigrew followed Voldemort's instructions, which returned him to physical form, although it was weak and rudimentary. When he was showing off in the graveyard, he said that it was a combination of his own invented spells and a potion made from unicorn blood and snake venom."

"Snake venom?" Dumbledore asked skeptically.

"He had a familiar, a giant snake named Nagini," Harry explained. "Bertha Jorkins' murder was used to make her into another Horcrux."

Dumbledore paled. "There's _another_ one out there?"

"He didn't do it until after my fourth…year…" Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And why did I think he would wait?"

"We all have off days," Dumbledore said, although he looked disappointed.

“Sheesh, alright already," Harry sighed. "Let's all gang up on the poor little orphan boy because he makes one little mistake. But you were right. We don't know if Voldemort is in Albania, or if he's returned to Britain. I don't have an active link into his head anymore – it keeps him from finding out what I know, but it keeps me out of his mind as well. We don't know where Crouch is. And we don't know if Crouch or Voldemort have contacted any of his old followers. What we do know is that Bertha Jorkins _is_ missing, was last seen in Albania, and that she knew about the Tournament.”

Dumbledore paused, stroking his beard. "At the moment, I suppose the best thing we can do is allow the situation to develop on its own."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. If nothing else, we'll find out once the Goblet of Fire makes its decision." He eyed Dumbledore. "But I want it known that I have no intention of entering, and want nothing to do with the tournament." He glanced around. "Everyone hear that?"

"Loud and clear," McGonagall said.

"Understood, Harry," Flitwick chuckled.

—ML—

By the next evening, Fred and George’s attempt at entering had already gone awry, and everyone was discussing those who had entered and who stood the best chance of being selected.

“Cedric isn’t just a Hufflepuff,” Harry was arguing. “He’s _the_ Hufflepuff – loyal, hardworking, friendly, and disgustingly likeable. Everyone who knows him likes him. He nearly got me to plow into the ground on my broom and I still like him. If he wasn’t the Champion, I’d be very surprised.”

“So much for house loyalty, eh Harry?” Angelina asked, sitting down across from him. “I’ve entered too, you know.”

“And if Cedric hadn’t entered, I would think you were a shoo-in,” Harry replied. “But the Goblet isn’t going to pick whoever is coolest or smartest. It’s going to pick who the best representative of the school is.”

“And I’m not the best?” Angelina asked testily.

“No,” Harry said bluntly. “Nobody in Gryffindor is. We have too much of an in-built grudge against Slytherin to truly represent the entire school, and they feel the same way about us. That said, I think anyone who enters should be disqualified immediately on basis of insanity.”

“Insanity?” Angelina echoed.

“This tournament was discontinued because the body count was getting too high,” Harry said. “It’s so dangerous even now that they’re only letting of-age wizards enter. Even if I was old enough, you wouldn’t catch me entering that tournament if my life depended on it. I get enough danger in Charms class, what with Seamus’ wand backfiring like it does.”

“Well of course it’s dangerous, brushing your teeth is dangerous,” Angelina said.

Neville raised an eyebrow. “I think you might be brushing your teeth wrong.”

“But you sometimes have to accept risk in order to win,” Angelina went on as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “I mean...eternal glory! A thousand Galleons!”

“Name one previous winner,” Harry challenged. “Just one, and I’ll shut up.” Angelina fell silent. “Glory is only as eternal as it takes for people to stop talking about you. As for the money? There are easier ways to make a thousand Galleons. Smuggling dragon eggs or working as a Veela gigolo jump to mind.”

“Veela gigolo?” Neville echoed. “I don’t remember that at the Hogwarts job fair.”

“It’s a chance many would die for, but I’ve nearly died several times since I came to this school,” Harry continued, making sure people were watching. “There’s no way on Earth I would ever willingly enter that tournament.”

“Well the good news is you can’t,” Angelina snarked. “Unless you turned seventeen when I wasn’t looking.”

“Valid point,” Harry admitted. “Do you think entering is a good idea?”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have entered, would I?”

Harry shook his head. “If you do get picked, try to survive, yeah? We need our Quidditch Captain alive and in one piece.”

Finally, the plates cleared and Dumbledore stood. “Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” – he indicated the door behind the staff table – “where they will be receiving their first instructions.” He extinguished most of the candles in the room, leaving the Goblet of Fire the brightest light in the room.

Harry knew there was almost no chance, but hoped that maybe, only three names would come from the Goblet this time. The flames inside the goblet turned red again, sending sparks sputtering into the air. A tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it – the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white. “The champion for Durmstrang,” he read out, “will be Viktor Krum.”

“No surprises there!” yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames. “The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. A moment later, the Goblet ejected the third piece of parchment, and Dumbledore casually caught it. “The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”

Harry whooped, his own cheer and Ron's dejected "No!" drowned out by the uproar from the Hufflepuffs.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —” Dumbledore broke off as the fire in the goblet turned red again and began gushing sparks, and for the briefest moment his eyes blazed with fury.

"Oh, god, not again," Harry rasped, as Dumbledore reached out and snagged the parchment the Goblet had released.

There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out – “Harry Potter.”

The Great Hall was utterly quiet, and then a single, annoyed groan broke the silence. “Aw, bloody fucking hell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank fuck this year is almost over. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it.

Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory, and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire.

Fleur Delacour looked around when Harry walked in and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

“What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

“No, there's been an…incident,” Harry said tightly. “Someone's trying to kill me.”

Cedric turned around, and Krum raised an eyebrow. “What's going on, Harry?” Cedric asked gently.

“My name came out of the Cup,” Harry explained. “Look, I've had enough attempts on my life to recognize one. I don't want any part of this. I've been saying that since we heard about the Tournament.”

“So, someone is attempting to kill you,” Krum surmised. “Tournament is dangerous. You vill be forced to compete?”

Before Harry could reply, Ludo Bagman scurried into the room, seizing Harry by the arm and leading him forward. “Extraordinary!” he muttered, squeezing Harry’s arm. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady,” he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. “May I introduce – incredible though it may seem – the fourth Triwizard champion?”

“Easy on the merchandise,” Harry protested, peeling Bagman's hand off his arm. “Look, Mister Bagman, I have said repeatedly and strenuously, I have _no_ desire to be a part of this tournament. I've been entered against my will, and I'd agree to testify to that under Veritaserum in a closed court.”

“Evidently zair ‘as been a mistake,” Fleur said contemptuously to Bagman. “'E cannot compete. ‘E is too young.”

“Well… it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his chin and smiling down at Harry. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as his name’s come out of the goblet… I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage… It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged… Harry will just have to do the best he —”

“Screw the rules,” Harry cried. “I have been entered in a dangerous competition against my will! You're telling me I'm going to be forced into this?”

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Madam Bones, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, and Professor McGonagall. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door.

“Madame Maxime!” Fleur said at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis boy is to compete also!”

“Not by choice!” Harry called. “Someone's trying to bump me off! I've been entered against my will!”

“What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” Maxime asked imperiously.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” Karkaroff said. He was wearing a steely smile, but his blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Two Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions – or have I not read the rules carefully enough?”

“C’est impossible,” Madame Maxime said. “Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. It is most unjust.”

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” Karkaroff added, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.”

“Again, I'm not in this by choice!” Harry said.

Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry, clearly putting on a show for the others. “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked calmly.

“No,” said Harry. He was very aware of everybody watching him closely.

“Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?” said Professor Dumbledore.

“No,” said Harry vehemently.

“Ah, but of course ‘e is lying!” cried Madame Maxime.

“He could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Professor McGonagall sharply. “I am sure we are all agreed on that -”

“Dumbly-dorr must ‘ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

“The Line has been tested by numerous other people, including yourself,” McGonagall pointed out. “Numerous underage students were rejected by it.”

“Are you telling me the Goblet would allow someone to enter somebody else's name?” Harry asked. “Why would that even be possible? This is a dangerous competition that's also an enormous diplomatic nightmare!”

“There was an additional spell in place ensuring that a person could only submit their own name,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Clearly, that has been circumvented.”

“Madam Bones, Mr. Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our – er – objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Madam Bones, who was looking very carefully at Harry. “It is indeed highly irregular,” Madam Bones allowed. “Dangerously so, in fact. But the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Well, Amelia knows the rule book back to front,” Bagman said, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

“ _Screw_ that,” Harry spat. “I did not submit my name, and as such have not agreed to any such rules!”

“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” Karkaroff said. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It’s only fair, Dumbledore.”

“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,” Bagman protested. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out – it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament…” Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Moody at the door.

“In which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” Karkaroff snapped. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” Moody growled, limping toward the fire. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”

“Convenient?” Karkaroff echoed. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.”

“Don’t you?” Moody asked quietly. “It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter’s name in that goblet knowing he’d have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone ‘oo wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” said Madame Maxime.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards…”

“If anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s Potter,” Moody pointed out.

“And I'm complaining!” Harry agreed vehemently. “Someone entered me against my will! Everyone in this school knows that I want no part of the tournament. Since I've started at this school, I've almost died a half-dozen times – why would I sign up for more?”

“So, you expect us to believe that someone is trying to have you killed?” Karkaroff scoffed.

“It makes a lot more sense than a fourteen-year-old boy somehow getting around protections laid out by three Headmasters and bewitching an ancient magical artifact into putting four people in a three-person tournament!” Harry spat. “Be honest, Headmaster, what teenager could beat a spell you laid down? Could a _seventh_ -year at your school do it?”

Karkaroff stared him down. “No,” he finally said.

“Madam Maxime? Could your best student do that?”

“Of course not,” she replied.

Harry looked to Dumbledore. “Professor?”

“I doubt it.”

“And if you look at my test scores, you'll see that I'm not even at the top of my year.” Harry glared at them all. “I've got a castle full of witnesses to testify to how little I wanted to do with this tournament. I even spoke to Cedric about it!”

“That he did,” Cedric admitted. “He said I was bonkers for entering my name, and said he wouldn't compete if you paid him.”

“That was a bit more diplomatic than I put it, but all right,” Harry said. He extended a hand to Professor Dumbledore. “Shall we put it to bed?”

“I suppose,” Dumbledore sighed. “Minerva, would you consent to be our Bonder?”

McGonagall's eyes widened. “Albus…”

“Please, Professor,” Harry asked. “Someone have a watch?” Cedric pulled back his sleeve. “Good. Sixty seconds, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore nodded, grasping Harry's hand in his own. McGonagall placed the tip of her wand on their linked hands.

“Will you, Harry Potter, answer my questions truthfully for sixty seconds after the bonding of this oath?”

“I will,” Harry said.

A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire. McGonagall looked grim as the flames bound themselves thickly around their clasped hands. The flames vanished, and Harry looked to the others. “There. I've just taken an Unbreakable Vow. Cedric?”

“Fifty-six seconds and counting,” the boy said, keeping an eye on his watch.

“Harry, did you enter yourself in the Goblet of Fire?”

“I did not,” Harry replied.

“Did you have someone else enter your name?”

“No.”

“Did someone else remove the wards around the Goblet of Fire, so that you could enter it yourself?”

“No.”

“Since the Tournament was announced earlier this year, did you have any desire to compete?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Over the last three years, there have been numerous attempts on my life, and several times I found myself in situations that easily could have killed me. I have no desire whatsoever to endanger myself further. Frankly, all I wanted this year was a calm, quiet, educational year at Hogwarts.” Cedric snorted. “Oi!”

“No such thing around here,” McGonagall agreed, shooting Cedric a knowing glance.

“Is there anything else you wish to tell us?”

“I've had my pants wedged up in my crack for the last five minutes and I'm really hoping everyone will look away so I can fix the issue,” Harry said truthfully.

Cedric cleared his throat. “I want it known, he has twenty seconds left on the clock.” Viktor stifled a snort, and Fleur rolled her eyes.

“How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do…”

“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr–”

“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.” Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one either. Karkaroff looked equally furious.

“This 'binding magical contract' I've apparently been forced into means I have to compete. I'm being targeted for murder.” He sighed. “Again. You'd think this wouldn't have gotten old.”

“Interesting school you've got here, Albus,” Karkaroff commented, giving the Headmaster a concerned look.

Bagman intervened before Harry could derail things further. “Well, shall we crack on, then?” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Amy, want to do the honors?”

Amelia shot him an irritated look. “Yes. The first task is designed to test your daring,” she told Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard. The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.” She turned to look at Dumbledore. “I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”

“I think so,” said Dumbledore, glancing at the other headmasters, who still looked irritated. “Amelia, could I offer you our hospitality for this evening?”

Amelia hesitated. “I would like to, but I should get back to the Ministry. It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment, and as they haven't found a permanent replacement for Barty yet, I had best be getting back.”

“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” said Dumbledore.

“Come on, Amy, I’m staying!” said Bagman brightly. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!”

Amelia looked more than a touched irritated now. “I think I’ll have to pass this time, Albus. Perhaps after the first task.”

“Professor Karkaroff – Madame Maxime – a nightcap?” said Dumbledore.

But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur’s shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

“Harry, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Gryffindor and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

Harry glanced at Cedric, who nodded, and they left together. The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burned low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality.

“So,” said Cedric, with a slightly forced smile. “We’re playing against each other again!”

“I s’pose,” Harry said. “Look, Cedric, if I find out anything about the tournament, anything about the tasks? I'll tell you. I don't care about winning. This is about survival for me.”

“I'll do the same for you,” Cedric promised. “Even without the Unbreakable Vow…I believe you.” Harry swallowed hard, surprised at how good the boy's belief in him felt. “You're fourteen, Harry. You deserve to make fifteen.”

“Thanks, Ced,” Harry said softly. “I…I really appreciate that.”

“And with you in the tournament, they'll come out to support me in _droves_ ,” Cedric continued.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not one straight man in the entire castle. Everyone thinks he’s a comedian.” The two bid their goodbyes, and Harry headed for the Gryffindor tower.

The walk up to the tower was quiet, and Harry's heart was thumping in his ears as he approached the portrait hole. Would they believe him this time?

“Well, well, well,” said the Fat Lady, “Who’s just been chosen as school champion, then?”

“Cedric Diggory,” Harry said. “But someone's trying to kill me and entered me as well.”

“Oh.” The Fat Lady paused. “Well, I suppose you're used to that by now.”

“I know, right?” Harry asked. “What kind of life am I leading that this is _normal_ for me?”

“You may want to go inside before you have your nervous breakdown,” she suggested.

“Right. Balderdash.” She swung forward on her hinges to let Harry into the common room. The blast of noise that met Harry’s ears when the portrait opened almost knocked him backward. Next thing he knew, he was being wrenched inside the common room by about a dozen pairs of hands, and was facing the whole of Gryffindor House, all of whom were screaming, applauding, and whistling.

“You should’ve told us you’d entered!” bellowed Fred, looking both annoyed and impressed.

“How did you do it without getting a beard? Brilliant!” roared George.

“I didn’t,” Harry said.

But Angelina had now swooped down upon him; “Oh if it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor –”

Harry growled, pulling out his wand and setting off a cannon blast. “All right, listen up! I did not enter. I did not want any part of this tournament, as I've been saying since it was announced. Someone's trying to kill me – _again_ – and they entered me. That's how I got in. Now, I'm going to _have_ to compete,” he gave a weak grin, “and for the sake of Gryffindor pride I'll do my best. But this is about surviving. Someone wants me dead. Do you guys believe me?”

Silence reigned in the Common Room for a moment. “I believe you, Harry,” Ron said from a chair by the fire.

“I do too,” Hermione added.

“Me too,” Neville chimed in.

“We got your back, Harry!” Dean called from halfway up the stairs to the boy's dormitory. A cheer went up, and Harry tried to ignore the burning in his eyes as the Gryffindors closed in around him, professing their belief in him and their support.

—ML—

The Hufflepuffs were just as cold to Harry as before, despite Dumbledore addressing the student body at breakfast and announcing Harry’s innocence. Professor Sprout was civil enough to Harry, but Cedric’s admission that he believed Harry had apparently done little to thaw the attitudes of his housemates.

Care of Magical Creatures meant encounters with the Slytherins, and Malfoy in particular. Harry had already arranged to put out the “Support Cedric Diggory – the REAL Hogwarts Champion” badges to take the wind out of Malfoy’s sails, but he knew that the ponce would never pass up the chance to insult him if he thought he could avoid reprisals.

“Ah, look, boys, it’s the champion,” Malfoy said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. “Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he’s going to be around much longer… Half the Triwizard champions have died… how long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first tasks' my bet.”

“Ten minutes, huh?” Harry repeated. “That's actually not bad. I was hoping I'd finish a little sooner, but who knows.”

“That's not what I meant, Potter, and you know it!” Malfoy snapped.

“I know nothing of the sort,” Harry said flatly. “I appreciate your support, Draco.” Malfoy’s face puckered, but he fell silent as Hagrid approached with the crates full of Blast-Ended Skrewts.

As the rest of the class struggled with the skrewts, Hagrid pulled Harry aside. “So – yer competin’, Harry. In the tournament. School champion.”

“Not by choice,” Harry replied. “I’m playing this one, but it’s under protest.”

“No idea who put yeh in fer it, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “Floor’s open to suggestions. You believe it wasn’t me, then?”

“Course I do,” Hagrid grunted. “Yeh say it wasn’ you, an’ I believe yeh – an’ Dumbledore believes yer, an’ all.”

“Someone’s trying to off me again,” Harry said.

“You’re not going to die,” Hagrid replied reassuringly.

“You say that now. But here I am, entered in a tournament known for killing its competitors.”

“Dumbledore would never let that happen.”

Harry stared at him for a long moment. “You remember the part where someone got me entered illegally in a deadly tournament despite Dumbledore’s attempts to prevent such a thing from happening, right?”

—ML—

The next few days were interesting, to say the least. The Hufflepuffs’ ire lacked the sheer viciousness of the Slytherin students’ insults, being focused on him for lack of a better target, but Dumbledore’s announcement had brought the Ravenclaws in line by the time Harry had sent Hedwig to Sirius with a letter about what had happened. If nothing else, Harry was glad to have Ron at his back this time.

“Not that I don’t believe you,” the redhead had asked only once, “but…you didn’t do it, right?”

“Of course not,” Harry had said.

Ron had watched him a moment, then shrugged. “Good enough for me. You got any idea what this first task is going to be?”

“I got a few ideas, but I’m going to be ready for anything,” Harry said.

The day of the Weighing of the Wands, Slughorn was examining Hermione’s antidote recipe when Colin edged into the room. “Couldn’t they have found anyone else?” Harry muttered.

“What was that?” Ron asked.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Harry said hastily.

Colin made his way to Slughorn’s desk. “Please, sir, I’m supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs.”

Slughorn frowned. “Potter has another hour of Potions to complete. Is this urgent?”

“Sir – sir, Mr. Bagman wants him,” Colin said nervously. “All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs…”

“Photographs, eh?” Slughorn eyed Harry. “Hope you wore your good robes today, my boy. Have you got your antidote recipe ready?”

Harry fished around in his potions supplies, finding a bezoar and holding it up. “Does this work?”

Slughorn snorted out a laugh. “All right, go on then!”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it, Harry?” said Colin, starting to speak the moment Harry had closed the dungeon door behind him. “Isn’t it, though? You being champion?”

“In a horrifying sort of way, I suppose,” Harry said heavily. “I appreciate your helping out, Colin. Those badges selling well?”

Colin nodded, his smile fading. “Why did you want to sell those, anyway?”

“Because Cedric _is_ the real Hogwarts champion,” Harry said flatly. “I’m in this because someone’s trying to kill me.”

“You really think so?” Colin asked anxiously as they reached the right room.

“This all doesn’t seem like the work of a friend,” Harry said. “Keep an eye out, will you?”

“Of course, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “Well, unless you fancy trying to get in on the photos, I think this is where we say goodbye.” He patted the younger boy on the shoulder, carefully pushing the image of Colin’s corpse from his mind. “Thanks again.”

The classroom-turned-meeting room was just as Harry remembered, with Krum standing in the corner and Cedric and Fleur talking animatedly. Bagman spotted Harry, got up quickly from where he was speaking with Rita Skeeter, and bounded forward.

“Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come, nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment. We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most important tools in the tasks ahead. The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing toward the muckraker. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the Daily Prophet…”

“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” said Rita Skeeter, her eyes on Harry. “I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start? The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of color?”

“Certainly!” cried Bagman. “That is – if Harry has no objection?”

“I certainly do,” Harry said. “I would be happy to give you a comment for your article, Miss Skeeter, but I’m not currently available for a private interview.”

Rita’s face betrayed no disappointment. “Lovely. Step over here, Harry. You won’t mind, Harry, if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally…”

“I mind a great deal,” Harry replied. “Use a recording charm like the rest of the press. I’m using one right now, just to ensure I have all the facts myself.” Rita paled slightly. “Now, ask away.”

“Now — why did you decide to enter the tournament, Harry?”

“I didn’t,” said Harry. “As you will no doubt have heard by now, I was entered against my will by an as-of-yet unknown party.”

“That’s the official story, yes, but I’m interested in what really happened,” Rita pressed. “Come now, Harry, there’s no need to be scared of getting into trouble. We all know you shouldn’t really have entered at all. But don’t worry about that. Our readers love a rebel.”

“I didn’t enter,” Harry repeated. “Someone entered me against my will, and I don’t think they’re hoping I win. You won’t mind if I have my solicitor contact the Prophet, of course, just to ensure that your article is reasonable. We wouldn’t want to start a panic, would we?”

Rita forced a smile. “Of course not.”

“Then by all means, continue,” Harry said, smiling serenely and realizing why Dumbledore loved acting so calm around excitable people.

“How do you feel about the tasks ahead?” said Rita Skeeter. “Excited? Nervous?”

“As I said, entering me in this tournament was an attempt on my life,” Harry said. “However, I intend to survive this.” At that, Dumbledore entered the room, and Harry nodded. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Harry took a seat next to Cedric, waiting patiently as the judges quietly conferred, before Ollivander made his appearance.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand. As Ollivander checked it over, Harry glanced over warily at Rita, who was watching him like a hawk.

Cedric stepped up and handed over his wand. “Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” Mr. Ollivander said. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn…must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches…ash…pleasantly springy. It’s in fine condition. You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” said Cedric, grinning.

Harry coughed out a laugh, and Fleur shot him a patronizing look. Cedric rolled his eyes at Harry’s laughter, but Harry noticed the corner of Krum’s mouth twitching. Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric’s wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”

Ollivander checked over the remaining wands and Harry was ready to make a hasty exit as Dumbledore made to dismiss them, but the photographer jumped up and cleared his throat. “Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” cried Bagman excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?”

“Er – yes, let’s do those first,” said Rita Skeeter, whose eyes had never left Harry. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”

“Who gives a flying fart what she thinks?” Harry muttered to Cedric, who ducked his head to hide his smile.

—ML—

That evening, Hedwig was waiting for Harry with a simple note from Sirius: _Call me when you get this._ Harry immediately pulled out the mirror. “Sirius Black!”

Almost immediately, Sirius’s face appeared. The man’s face was creased with worry, but after three years of healthy living, he looked better than Harry had ever seen him look outside a photograph. “Harry! Good to see you, kid.”

Harry broke into the first sincere smile he had worn for days. “Sirius – how’re you doing?”

“Never mind me, how are you?” said Sirius.

“Would you believe me if I said I was fine?”

“No.”

“Then I’m really not fine,” Harry said, before breaking into an explanation of what was going on. “And I don’t know who even put me in for this,” he finished. “But I don’t think they like me very much.”

Sirius gave him a sad smile. “Feel a little better?”

“A little,” Harry admitted.

“Good. Now listen up. Karkaroff. Harry, he was a Death Eater.”

“Yes – he – what?”

“He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I’d bet everything that’s why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year – to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place.”

Harry frowned. “Let me guess, he pretended he had seen the errors of his ways and named some names and they let him walk?”

“Exactly. He put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place. He’s not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he’s been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well.”

“Okay,” said Harry slowly. “But… are you saying Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he’s a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing.”

“We know he’s a good actor,” said Sirius, “because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn’t he?”

“So…what are you saying? Karkaroff’s trying to kill me? Why? As a former Death Eater, he’d be the prime suspect.”

Sirius hesitated. “I’ve been hearing some very strange things,” he said slowly. “The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn’t they? And did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who’s gone missing?”

“Bertha Jorkins?” said Harry. “Yeah, Dumbledore…”

Sirius frowned. “Harry, I’m never going to keep things from you, but I can’t say I’m crazy about some of the stuff Dumbledore shares with you. But yes, she disappeared in Albania, and that’s definitely where Voldemort was rumored to be last… and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah, but… it’s not very likely she’d have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?” said Harry.

“Listen, I knew Bertha Jorkins,” said Sirius grimly. “She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It’s not a good combination, Harry. I’d say she’d be very easy to lure into a trap.”

“So… so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?” said Harry. “Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?”

“I don’t know,” said Sirius slowly, “I just don’t know… Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page,” Harry grumbled. “Whoever did this to me didn’t do it as a favor.”

“Keep yourself safe,” Sirius urged. “If you die on my watch, your mother will resurrect herself and kill me.”

Harry sniggered. “Don’t worry, Sirius. Survived a Killing Curse, remember? I may actually be immune to death.”

Sirius grinned, but only briefly. “You’re not alone, Harry. Remember that.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Thanks, Sirius.”

“Now, about this first task…”

—ML—

Harry had managed to duck or beg off Slughorn’s invitations to his ‘parties,’ mostly out of camaraderie and a complete lack of interest in speaking with people who assumed they were better than everyone else. Hermione had been invited, but seemed less than interested in attending, and Neville and Ron hadn’t been invited at all. The first Hogsmeade weekend was the Saturday before the first task, and the quartet ventured out to The Three Broomsticks, which was packed with Hogwarts students enjoying their free afternoon, but also with a variety of magical people Harry rarely saw anywhere else. All of them looked cheerful and relaxed. Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot were swapping Chocolate Frog cards at a nearby table; both of them sporting Support Cedric Diggory! badges on their cloaks. Neither of them spared him a second glance, which was just fine by Harry, who sat nursing his butterbeer as the others sat and stared at him.

“You don’t seem nervous,” Neville finally said.

“Would it help?” Harry asked.

“I suppose not.”

“Then what’s the point of worrying?”

“Harry, this isn’t a game,” Hermione insisted. “This tournament was built to test seventeen-year-olds, you’ve got a three-year disadvantage that they don’t.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got you,” Harry replied, and Hermione blinked in surprise. “All of you. With you guys backing me up, what do I have to worry about?”

“Dying?” Ron ventured.

“Would you prefer I sat here freaking out over the first task?” Harry asked. “I’m worried, yes. But I’m not going to live in fear.” He perked up as Hagrid’s head emerged over the crowd. “Oh look, it’s Hagrid.”

The half-giant had been drinking with Moody, whose magical eye had remained firmly fixed on his cup even as the man had been swapping stories with Hagrid. Harry waved, and Moody poked Hagrid in the shoulder, jerking a thumb at the Gryffindors. A few moments later, Hagrid was looming over their table, Moody at his side.

“All right, Harry?”

“I’m making it,” Harry replied, smiling back. “Just stopping by to say hello?”

“Not exactly,” Hagrid murmured, barely audible over the talking in the pub. Hagrid now bent down and said in a whisper so low that only Harry could hear it, “Harry, meet me tonight at midnight at me cabin. Wear your cloak.”

Straightening up, Hagrid said loudly, “Nice ter see yeh all,” winked, and departed. Moody followed him.

Hermione waited about three seconds after they had stepped away. “What’d he say?”

“Wants me to meet him at midnight.”

Hermione frowned. “I wonder what he’s up to?”

“Maybe it’s got something to do with the first task?” Ron suggested.

Neville leapt on the suggestion. “I’ll bet that’s it! He’s probably involved in organizing it, he must know what’s going on.”

Hermione looked doubtful. “And he would just tell you what the first task is?”

“Hagrid? Maybe, considering he knows I’m in this against my will. But the man can’t keep a secret to save his life, so even if he doesn’t mean to tell me I can probably find out if he knows.”

At half past eleven that evening, Harry made his way down to Hagrid’s cabin, concealed under the Cloak. The grounds were dark, but there was enough light by the moon – still bright from the full moon the week before – to see by. Harry walked down the lawn toward the lights shining in Hagrid’s cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; Harry could hear Madame Maxime talking inside it as he knocked on Hagrid’s front door.

“You there, Harry?” Hagrid whispered, opening the door and looking around.

“Yeah,” said Harry, slipping inside the cabin and pulling the cloak down off his head. “What’s up? You got another dragon egg in here?”

Hagrid paused a moment, before shaking his head. “Got summat ter show yeh.” There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole and had attempted to comb his hair again.

“What’re you showing me?” Harry said warily, knowing full well what was coming.

“Come with me, keep quiet, an’ keep yerself covered with that cloak,” said Hagrid. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it…”

“Won’t like _what_?” Harry pressed. “You’re being awful mysterious, Hagrid – Hagrid?” The man had opened the cabin door and moved off into the night, leaving Harry to hurry after. “He couldn’t just _tell_ me, could he? Save me the sodding trip?”

By the time Harry caught up to Hagrid, the half-giant had picked up Madame Maxime and was leading them around the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest. Luckily this time around, he didn’t have an appointment with Sirius, Harry thought as they approached the dragon enclosure.

The dragons were just as intimidating as Harry remembered, and just as upset until they were Stunned en masse by the dragon handlers.

As Madame Maxime and Hagrid moved closer to the fence, Harry glanced nervously over his shoulder, expecting Karkaroff to show up any minute. Pulling the Cloak tighter around himself, Harry ducked away, heading back for the Gryffindor Tower.

—ML—

“Cedric!”

“What do you want, Potter?” One of Cedric’s friends asked him. “No place here for cheaters.”

“Well, if I see one, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Harry said brightly. “Now get out of my way, I need to talk to Cedric.”

“I’m sure he’s got better things to do–”

“What’s up, Harry?” Cedric asked. The boy’s friend glared at Harry, but subsided. “Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

“First task is dragons,” Harry said without preamble once they were alone. “I found out last night. Krum and Delacour will both know by now, Maxime and Karkaroff found out about the same time I did.”

“Dragons,” Cedric said flatly. “You’re sure?”

“They’ve got four of them, one for each of us to get past,” Harry replied.

“How’d you find out?”

“Does it matter?” Harry asked evasively. “You were the only one who didn’t know. Like I said before, if I found out anything about the tournament, I’d tell you. So study up on fireproofing charms. I gotta get to Herbology.”

—ML—

“Interesting use of switching spells,” Flitwick said, mopping sweat from his forehead. “Have you been working on that technique long?”

“Long enough,” Harry replied, trying to catch his breath. “Few people would even think to ward against switching spells. I mostly use it to steal other people’s wands.”

“Not that I haven’t enjoyed these little sparring sessions,” Flitwick asked, “but shouldn’t you be preparing for the First Task? It _is_ tomorrow, after all.”

“I’m ready,” Harry said. “I’ve done this before. Came out with…well all right, I _did_ have a scratch, but just a scratch. You’d think a grown-ass man who is the self-proclaimed dark lord wouldn’t have this much trouble trying to kill me, a literal child.”

“To be fair, he’s really bad at making good plans,” Flitwick replied.

The next day, Harry was dealing with a handful of people helpfully telling him they’d have a mop ready to pick up what was left of him at lunch. Malfoy had passed by, hissing “enjoying your last meal, Potter?” but moving along when McGonagall approached.

“Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now…you have to get ready for your first task.”

Harry took a last bite of chicken and nodded. “Right behind you, Professor.”

“Good luck, Harry,” Hermione whispered.

“No matter what you see out there, don’t worry, I’m fine,” Harry said.

“You realize that statement alone worries me more than anything else, right?”

“She’s got a point,” Ron said.

“Agreeing with Hermione? Who are you and where’s the real Ron Weasley?”

“Ha ha bloody ha,” Ron deadpanned. “Take care of yourself out there.”

“Always do,” Harry promised.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” Hermione asked.

“We both know that’s asking too much.” He left the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall. As she walked him down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Now, don’t panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head. We’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand. Are you all right?”

“I’ve done this before,” Harry replied. “But no, I’m not. But Gryffindors lead the way, right?”

She was leading him toward the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions,” said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, “and wait for your turn, Potter. Mr. Bagman is in there…he’ll be telling you the – the procedure…good luck.” She left him at the entrance of the tent, and after a deep breath Harry went inside.

The other champions were already inside, all looking pale and nervous. Cedric was pacing.

“Harry! Good-o!” said Bagman happily, looking around at him. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!” His exuberance was jarring among the pale-faced champions, and Harry merely nodded as Bagman kept talking. “Well, now we’re all here – time to fill you in! When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag, from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different – er – _varieties_ , you see. And I have to tell you something else too…ah, yes…your task is to collect the golden egg!”

Harry glanced around. Cedric had nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman’s words, and then started pacing around the tent again, looking slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn’t reacted at all. Harry perched on a free stool, running through an Occlumency exercise Dumbledore had passed on to him. His shields needed no work, but the breathing control helped keep the apprehension down – not to mention his lunch. The crowds of students passed by, talking excitedly about the possibilities of the upcoming task, and once the noise died down, Bagman worked open the neck of the sack with the dragon models inside.

“Ladies first,” he said, offering it to Fleur Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon – the Welsh Green with the number two tied around its neck. Cedric pulled the Horntail with the number four, and Krum reached in to retrieve the Swedish Short-Snout, with a number one. Feeling slightly foolish at expecting the same dragon again, Harry reached into the sack and pulled out the Chinese Fireball with the number three around its neck.

“Well, there you are!” said Bagman. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mister Krum, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now… Harry… could I have a quick word? Outside?”

Harry stuffed the model dragon into his pocket and followed Bagman outside.

“Feeling all right, Harry? Anything I can get you?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically. “No problems.”

“Got a plan?” said Bagman, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Because I don’t mind sharing a few pointers, if you’d like them, you know. I mean,” Bagman continued, lowering his voice still further, “you’re the underdog here, Harry… Anything I can do to help…”

“No,” said Harry so quickly he knew he had sounded rude, “I know what I’m going to do, thanks. Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”

“Nobody would know, Harry,” said Bagman, winking at him.

“ _I_ would know.”

A whistle blew, and Bagman perked up. “Good lord, I’ve got to run!”

Krum walked past as Harry returned to the tent, and Harry paused. “Krum.”

“Vat is it?”

“Good luck.”

Krum stared at him a moment, before nodding. “To you as vell.”

Harry sat back, mentally reviewing his plan and twiddling his thumbs. Fleur paced, knowing she was up next. “Nervous?”

“Are you not?” She asked incredulously. “Any sane person would be.”

“Many characteristics have been attributed to me,” Harry said. “I don’t think ‘sane’ was ever one of them.”

“Explains a lot about zis school,” Fleur mumbled.

“We grow on people, but it takes a while for people to adjust to us. Not unlike a French cheese.”

Fleur glared at him. “You have something against France?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not hopping on the ‘I hate France’ bandwagon,” Harry replied easily. “I mean I would, but it was _full_. But mostly I’m just trying to avoid thinking about the fact that we’re fighting dragons, alone, and I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m doing on a good day. My friend wrestles dragons, I just run from them.”

“You knew this was coming,” Cedric pointed out.

“Gee, I wonder why a fourteen-year-old would be scared about being forced to fight a dragon in a blood tournament he didn’t sign up for?” Harry asked. “Not like there’s many recorded instances of teenagers fighting dragons and surviving!”

“None at all,” Cedric replied helpfully. “I checked.”

Harry glared at him. “Thanks, Ced.”

“How can you be zo calm?” Fleur demanded. “We could very well die!”

“We could, but worrying about it isn’t going to help me stay alive,” Harry said, ignoring the roar of the crowd as Krum fought the dragon.

The whistle blew again, and Fleur marched out, her head held high despite how bad she was trembling. Harry looked to Cedric. “If you’ve got a plan to distract the dragon, remember, quantity counts. Make sure it’s too busy chasing other things to go after you. That Horntail is a real piece of work, the handlers said.”

Out in the crowd, Ron looked around as Fleur enacted her plan. “I’ll take any action against Harry,” he announced.

“Ron!” Hermione gasped. “You’re going to bet against Harry?”

“No, they’re going to bet against Harry,” Ron replied smugly, indicating several Slytherins reaching for their money pouches. “If they’re dumb enough to bet against Harry, I’m doing them a favor by taking their money.”

“Between Potter and a dragon, I know what the smart bet is,” Millicent Bulstrode said.

“Then how come you’re betting on the dragon?”

—ML—

The Chinese Fireball was crouched low, hovering protectively over her eggs.

“This has got to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Harry muttered. “ _Accio Firebolt!_ ”

Harry waited, every fiber of him alive with adrenaline as he expected to hear his broomstick hurtling towards him at any second.

Nothing happened. How could he have mucked up a simple Summoning Charm? The Chinese Fireball snorted out a burst of flame, roaring a challenge at him, and Harry reacted.

Holding up his wand, a massive burst of light and sound exploded in front of the dragon’s snout, effectively blinding it. Harry dashed forward, stopping when the dragon shook and spotted him. Harry dropped to one knee, drawing a circle in the hard earth with his wand as the dragon inhaled.

“ _Medic_!” Bagman screamed as the flames engulfed Harry. “He’s got to be horribly injured from that!”

The inferno cleared, and Harry stood there, one arm braced and holding up a shield spell. “He’s all right!” Bagman shouted unnecessarily as the crowd roared.

Ignoring Bagman’s commentary inside his barrier, Harry began casting again. Dropping his shield, he hosed down the ground around him with a jet of water, steam hissing into the air as he dashed forward.

 _Then_ he heard it, the Firebolt whizzing through the air. “What kept you?” Harry grumbled as he leapt, catching the broomstick and mounting it in midair as the dragon exhaled another gout of flame, nearly singing the twigs at the end of the Firebolt.

Another flashbang spell and the dragon reared back, blinded again. Harry dropped his shield to grab the egg, pausing just long enough to yell “meep meep!” and zoomed for the exit.

He never made it. The Fireball recovered quickly, cutting off his escape with another burst of flame. Nearly dropping the egg, Harry cast a rock liquefaction spell, the stone beneath the Fireball’s feet suddenly yielding to its weight. A long, thick loop of rock lashed around the dragon’s neck, pulling it flat to the ground as Harry plunged through the heat haze, pulling the egg closer to his side and ignoring the scalding heat against his skin as he passed the wards at the edge of the enclosure.

Bagman hollered something Harry didn’t catch over the ringing in his ears, and the crowd roared as Harry collapsed against the wall of the enclosure, panting and slightly singed. He gave Charlie Weasley a tired grin as the young man paused to check if he was hurt. “Nothing to it!”

As the handlers swarmed the dragon, Harry faced the judges, leaning on his broomstick.

Madam Maxime raised her wand, displaying a nine. Madame Bones and Dumbledore followed with nines as well, and Bagman dropped a solid ten. Karkaroff, as Harry had more or less expected, gave him a five for a total of forty-two. Fighting his initial reaction to beat the stupid out of the man with his broomstick, Harry settled for raising a Dumbledore-esque eyebrow, before shrugging and nodding to the other judges.

“You’re in first place!” Ron said as he, Hermione, and Neville approached.

“Harry, you were brilliant!” Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. “You were amazing! You really were!”

“That was _unreal_!” Neville agreed. “How’d you do that?”

Harry shrugged. “You’d be amazed what you can do when you’re threatened with a dragon. How’d the others do?” Harry asked, hooking his Firebolt over his shoulder and carrying the golden egg under his arm.

“Krum was pretty good, he hit the dragon right in the eye with some sort of spell, blinded it,” Ron said, his pockets clinking. “It squashed a few of the eggs, so he lost some points for that, he got thirty-seven.”

“Delacour put the dragon in a trance somehow,” Hermione picked up where Ron had left off. “It snored and nearly got her with a jet of flame, but she got the egg and didn’t get hurt, she’s in second with forty-one.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “She hypnotized and subdued a dragon without hurting it and she’s in _second_ place?”

Neville shrugged. “It wasn’t very dramatic. I guess that’s why you’re in the lead.”

“For the moment,” Harry pointed out. “Cedric hasn’t gone yet.”

It took ten full minutes for the handlers to subdue and remove the Chinese Fireball and bring in the Horntail, at which point the whistle blew again and Cedric strode into the enclosure, eyeing the Horntail. The Hufflepuff was pale, but he raised his wand defensively as the Horntail thrashed her spiked tail, leaving deep gouges in the hard ground. “What’s he going to do?” Hermione asked.

Cedric glanced around, muttering a spell and transfiguring a rock into a dog. A few moments later, a half-dozen more dogs were scrambling around the enclosure, barking madly as Cedric tapped himself on the head and started moving slowly around the perimeter of the enclosure, his form washing out from visibility.

“Oh, very clever!” Bagman called. One of the dogs trotted forward and met an untimely end under the Horntail’s forepaw, scattering the others. The Horntail breathed fire as Cedric’s outline moved forward slowly, the mess that used to be a Labrador turning into a pack of yapping Chihuahuas as the other dogs scattered ahead of the flames.

“He’s Disillusioned himself,” Harry said above the murmurs of the crowd. “C’mon, Cedric, you got this.”

The blur that Harry knew to be Cedric darted forward suddenly as the Horntail swiped at a boarhound, diving under the dragon’s swiping tail. Blood suddenly sprayed the ground, and the Horntail’s head jerked as Cedric cried out in pain, but the golden egg Cedric was to retrieve suddenly vanished.

“He’s bleeding!” Bagman shouted. “Oh, I hope he’s all right!”

“Not with that much blood,” Harry said softly. “Those tail spikes must have gotten him.”

The dogs converged on the dragon as the blood trail tracked towards the exit, and Cedric faded back into view, one hand held against a long gash in his side that was bleeding freely. “He’s got the egg, but he’s hurt!” Bagman hollered, jumping up and down. The boy staggered forward as the Horntail tore into the dogs nipping at her legs, two of the handlers running forward to help Cedric as the others moved to subdue the Horntail.

“I’m going to check on him,” Harry said immediately.

Cedric was stripped to the waist, Pomfrey tending to his wound as she griped about the irresponsibility of letting children fight dragons. “Potter, unless you got injured yourself, wait,” she said without looking over. “You were lucky, Diggory, this isn’t deep. Just messy.”

“Will I ever play the violin again?” Cedric asked, straightfaced.

“Depends,” Harry said. “Could you before?”

Cedric grinned at Harry, but yelped as Pomfrey flushed out his wound with a purple liquid Harry recognized, a cloud of smoke erupting from the injury. She poked it with her wand, and the skin closed instantly. “The skin will be rather stiff for a day or so, but you’ll be fine. Don’t scratch, even if it itches.”

“Good one, Cedric,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t have thought of trying to sneak by.”

“How’d you do it?” Cedric asked.

Harry jiggled his broomstick. “I did what came natural.”

—ML—

Cedric was lagging in last place with thirty-four points, but nothing could put a damper on the Gryffindor students’ spirits. When the quartet entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells again.

Harry helped himself to food and sat down with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. “Blimey, this is heavy,” said Lee Jordan, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. “Open it, Harry, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!”

“I probably shouldn’t,” Harry said, recalling how awful Mermish sounded above water.

“Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!” several people echoed.

“All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and prised it open, bracing himself. After a few moments of the ear-splitting wailing, Harry slammed the egg shut, shaking his head to clear it. “ _Ow!_ ”

“What was that?” said Seamus, staring at the egg as Harry set it on the table, wiggling his finger in his ear to clear the ringing. “Sounded like a banshee… Maybe you’ve got to get past one of those next, Harry!”

“It was someone being tortured!” said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. “You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!”

“Don’t be a prat, Neville, that’s illegal,” said George. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing… maybe you’ve got to attack him while he’s in the shower, Harry.”

“You think he’d sign up for that?” Harry asked.

“If his boss asked him to, sure.”

After a few hours of celebration, Harry extricated himself from the party and made his way upstairs, dropping his egg on his bed and setting the model of the Chinese Fireball on his bedside table, before grabbing the mirror Sirius had given him. “Sirius Black!”

“Harry!” Sirius said, answering almost immediately. “You made it!”

“You doubted me?” Harry asked, pouting.

“You’re competing at a level meant to challenge seventh years, I was worried,” Sirius said flatly.

“Is that Harry?” Remus called, shoving his face into view alongside Sirius. “Still in one piece?”

“I got singed a little, but everything’s still attached.”

Both men answered at once. “ _Singed?_ ”

“The first task was…er…” Harry paused, wondering how to put it gently. “You know how Ron wrestles dragons?”

Remus’s face went slack. “They didn’t.”

“Didn’t they?” Harry snagged the model of the dragon off the table, holding it up. “I had to get past a life-size version of one of these.”

“Irresponsible jackasses,” Remus hissed. “How could they let a kid–”

“I’m fine, Remus,” Harry said gently.

“Yeah? And how close did you come to being flambeed?”

“Moony, take it easy,” Sirius said.

“Sirius, if that’s where they’re _starting_ , how much danger is Harry going to be in for the second task?” Remus asked.

“He can handle it,” Sirius said confidently.

“Handling it isn’t the point,” Remus insisted.

“Remus!” Harry broke in. “I know you’re worried. But I’m stuck in this mess and I’m going to kick every bit of arse I can on my way out. All right?”

“Fine, but you can’t stop me worrying,” Remus sighed. “Your mother would never forgive me if you got hurt.”

“You know, Sirius said pretty much the same thing,” Harry mused. “Didn’t my dad have any regard for people’s safety?”

“None whatsoever,” both Marauders said in unison.

—ML—

Little changed about Harry’s second December as a fourth-year, barring a suspicious lack of Rita Skeeter on the grounds. Perhaps her Auror tail had finally caught her in her Animagus form or she had simply found another target, but Harry was glad enough just to not have to see the reporter.

McGonagall paused at the end of a Transfiguration class to address the students about the Yule Ball, calling to Harry as the bell rang. “Potter – a word, if you please.” Professor McGonagall waited until the rest of the class had gone, and then said, “Potter, the champions and their partners –”

“Open the dance, I know,” Harry said. “You mentioned embarrassing the school. I do many things well. Dancing is not one of them.”

“Well, you’d best learn,” McGonagall said sharply. “I don’t suppose you have a partner in mind.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Why Professor, I didn’t know you cared.” After a few seconds of McGonagall staring at him, he sighed. “Really? Not even a twitch? You’ve got to teach me how you do that.”

“Practice,” McGonagall said flatly. “Find yourself a partner, Potter.”

“Right, no sweat,” Harry muttered as he left the classroom.

Almost everyone in the fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all seemed to Harry to be obsessed with the coming ball – or at least all the girls were. Many of the boys were staring at the groups of girls, seeming to have the same thing on their minds that Harry had brought up to Ron as they were walking to lunch. Neville and Hermione had already gone ahead after an Arithmancy class.

“Why do they have to move in packs?” Harry asked Ron as a dozen or so girls walked past them, sniggering and staring at Harry. “How’re you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?”

“Lasso one?” Ron suggested. “Got any idea who you’re going to try?”

“I figure I’ll go with Hermione, save both of us the trouble of finding a date,” Harry said.

Ron stopped walking and stared at Harry. “You fancy her?”

“I…er…” Harry paused. “I meant going as friends.”

Ron grunted. “Not what I asked.”

“I don’t…think I do,” Harry said slowly. “Why’s it matter?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron replied. “Maybe because two of my best friends might wind up getting together, and that matters to me? What possible reason could I have to care about that?”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, before pausing. “I…all right, fair point. Look, even if I did fancy her, and I’m not saying I do, I’ve got a target on my back. Getting involved with someone would only put them in danger too.”

“You realize that any of your friends are already marked too, right?” Ron asked. “Nev and I were talking about it after the first task.”

“And it doesn’t matter to you?”

“To anyone who would come after you, we’re blood traitors anyway,” Ron said. “Hermione’s a Muggleborn. As Neville said it, we might as well earn it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are in 2021. Those of us that made it, congratulations on surviving THAT shit-storm. Now grab a shovel, because we're going to have to dig our way out of this mess.

“Er, Professor,” George began, standing in front of the staff table in the Great Hall. “Could I ask you something?”

“Of course,” McGonagall said warily.

“Would you do me the honor of going to the Yule Ball with me?”

McGonagall’s eyes bugged out, but before she could reply, Fred dashed over and shoved him. “How could you, George! You know how I feel!” The two began wrestling as McGonagall delicately pinched the bridge of her nose, silently counting to ten.

“Hey, Cedric,” Harry said, ignoring the cheers of the students and sitting down at the Hufflepuff table. A few of the upper-year ‘Puffs glared at him, but remained silent. “Got a date for the ball yet?”

Cedric gave him a lopsided grin. “Is this your way of asking me?”

“If you’d like, but you’re going to have to wear the dress, I just don’t have the legs for it,” Harry shot back. “No, the rumor mill says you’ve been making googly eyes at Cho Chang.”

“I have not been making googly eyes,” Cedric protested.

“Yes you have,” roughly half the Hufflepuff table said at once.

“All right, fine, I happen to like her,” Cedric grumbled. “But I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Problem solved.” Harry turned. “Oi! Cho, c’mere a minute!”

The Ravenclaw Seeker slowly made her way over, looking at Harry suspiciously. “Yes?”

“Do you have a date for the ball yet?” Harry asked brightly, ignoring Cedric’s warning glare.

“I...er, no,” Cho said. “Is this really your way of asking me?”

“Oh, goodness no,” Harry said. “I’m going with Hermione Granger, she just doesn’t know it yet. I was just checking if you had a date yet. And while you’re here, have you met Cedric Diggory?”

Cho practically glowed from intensity of her blush. “I...hello, Cedric.”

“Hi, Cho,” Cedric said, tongue-tied.

Several seconds of awkward silence ensued.

“This is getting painful,” Harry finally said. “Cedric, you have something to ask Cho. Ask it before I set your pants on fire.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Cedric said.

“Yeah?” Harry drew his wand. “Try me.”

“Chodoyouwanttogototheballwithme?” Cedric blurted out.

Cho blinked for a few moments, processing what he had said. A broad grin spread across her face. “Sure!”

“Great!” Harry clapped his hands together. “My work here is done. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stop Ron from shouting at Fleur.”

He got there a moment before Ron opened his mouth, ignoring the urge to flex and grunt as Fleur’s aura took effect. “Excuse us,” Harry said, dragging Ron away. “She’s got a date in mind already, and you were under the effects of her aura. There was no way that was going to end well.”

Ron looked torn between wanting to strangle Harry and a clear sense of gratitude. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Aim for our year, you’ll be better off,” Harry said. “I hear Parvati is still available.”

Ron eyed him warily. “You going to interrupt me there, too?”

“Oi! Parvati! C’mere a minute!”

—ML—

“Hermione, do you have a minute?”

The brunette looked up from her book. “For you? Two.”

Harry grinned. “I’m flattered. You got a date to the ball yet?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of asking me?”

“No, this is my way of checking before I ask you, so I don’t put you in an uncomfortable position before we start dancing,” Harry replied.

Hermione’s cheeks pinked slightly, and she brushed some of her hair behind her ear. “No, I don’t have anyone to go with yet.”

“In that case, Hermione, would you be my date to the Yule Ball? I promise not to step on your feet.”

Hermione held one hand to her chest. “So gallant. With such a flattering proposal, how can I refuse?”

Harry chuckled. “Look, you, Neville, and Ron are my best friends. Neville’s planning to ask Ginny, I think, and unfortunately, I lead when I dance, so Ron can’t be my date. Plus, I _just_ set him up with Parvati, and if he dumped her for me that would get all sorts of talk going. I...er...would really like to go with you.”

The blush in Hermione’s cheeks deepened. “Harry...”

“Besides, you’re much cuter than he is, and while I’m sure he could pull off a gown, he’s got those lovely dress robes,” Harry continued.

Hermione giggled. “All right, all right. Yes, I would love to go to the ball with you.”

“Wicked,” Harry said. “Now, oh mighty Granger, I need to pick that big brain of yours.”

“There’s something you don’t know?” Hermione asked coyly.

“Shocking, isn’t it?” Harry asked. “Do you know anything about magical languages?”

“Like Parseltongue?”

“I was thinking Mermish, but you’re on the right track,” Harry said.

Hermione blinked. “I know Merpeople speak it, but that’s about it. Why?”

“Because after about twenty minutes of listening to the wailing in that egg and trying to figure out what on earth it means, I’m thinking that it’s a message in a foreign language. I’m wondering what Mermish sounds like. Gobbledegook I know sounds like someone speaking Russian with a bad head cold, but…”

“But you think Mermish might sound like screechy wailing?” Hermione finished. “And you think that I would know what it sounds like?”

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Harry said.

Hermione stared at him. “You do realize I don’t know _everything_ , right?”

“I realize how difficult it is for you to admit that, yes,” Harry said cheekily, before ducking a thrown quill. “Oi! What, you want me wearing an eyepatch at the Ball?”

—ML—

“Potter.”

“Krum.”

“May I speak to you for a moment?”

“If you use my first name, sure.”

“Then I am Viktor.”

Harry nodded. “What’s on your mind?”

“Your friend, Granger. Does she have a date for the Yule Ball?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What’s it to you?”

Viktor raised a hand. “Very well. I meant no offense. She and I have…become friendly in the library, and she is the first girl here who seemed unimpressed by my reputation.”

Harry shrugged. “She’s not much for reputations as it is. I didn’t mean to seem hostile. She’s going with me.”

Viktor nodded. “I was not aware there was something between you.”

“There isn’t, really,” Harry said after a moment. “We’re going as friends. I know how hard it can be to find someone who sees you instead of your name.”

Viktor nodded. “Does...she have a friend?”

Harry thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t call her a friend of Hermione’s, exactly, but I know someone else who doesn’t care about reputations and might be interested in going with you. It might take a little doing, however…”

—ML—

On Christmas morning, Harry opened his eyes slowly, feeling a weight on the bed next to him and seeing a pair of eyes glowing at him in the dark. “Crookshanks, you’re in the wrong room,” he mumbled.

“Not Crookshanks, it’s me,” Dobby said. Harry gasped at the voice, reaching out and nearly seizing the elf by the front of his jacket. “Sorry, sir!”

“Don’t call me sir,” Harry replied, sitting up and grabbing his glasses. “Sorry, you just…surprised me. You all right?” Dobby nodded. “Well then, a Merry Christmas to you.”

Dobby beamed. “Thank you! Dobby brought you a present!”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Harry said. “But you being here does present a problem.”

“A problem?”

Harry scratched his head, yawning. “I sent your present to the flat. I can’t give it to you here.”

“You…you got Dobby a present?”

Harry squinted sleepily at Dobby. “Course. You’re family. You do that for family.” He looked out through the hangings on his bed, noting the others were still asleep. “It’s probably under the tree. Can you pop back and get it?”

“Of course!” A minute later, Dobby was sitting cross-legged on Harry’s bed, unwrapping a squashy package. He pulled out the scrap of fabric, and his face fell. “You…you are giving clothes?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he realized the implications. “Er…not like that, Dobby.” The elf relaxed marginally. “I mean, you’re free to quit at any time, you’re an employee, not a slave. This is just something I think you might like.”

“Oh.” Dobby looked at it. “Pardon Dobby, but what is it?”

Harry grinned. “It’s a head cozy.” He poked his fingers through the holes. “It’ll keep your head warm, and it’s got holes for your ears, see?”

Dobby examined it a moment longer, before jamming it on his head and tugging gently on his ears to get the hat seated properly. “Dobby loves it!”

“Great,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “I…did you…” He tilted his head, looking at Dobby’s suit. “Your suit is moving.”

“It’s Dobby’s Christmas suit,” Dobby said, tilting so the dim light caught the designs moving across the fabric. “Sleighs, lights, and trees.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re expanding your wardrobe.” Harry fished out the communications mirror Sirius had given him, tilting it so Dobby could see his reflection. “And your hat has moving designs too.” Dobby gasped as he saw the animated images of his own face circling on the hat.

“Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?” he squeaked tentatively.

“Course you can.” Harry expected socks, but found a lovely wool scarf in Gryffindor colors instead. “I…Dobby, this is…wow. I…” He squeezed it, swallowing hard. “Wow. This is lovely, Dobby.”

“Are you all right?”

Harry nodded. “I’m touched.”

“Dobby always thought so,” Dobby said.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Well, so much for the moment. You cheeky little…”

Dobby winked. “Merry Christmas.” Dobby disappeared with a pop.

—ML—

Harry fell to his knees, coughing violently, trying to clear his throat. The burning in his eyes and nose refused to abate as he scrubbed at his face, his glasses in his off hand.

“Sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to hit you right in the face like that,” George said.

Harry waved him off, blowing half-melted snow out of his nose. “M’fine. Besides, you left yourself open.”

“What?” George’s puzzled expression disappeared under a pile of white as Harry thumped a fist into the snow, banishing a wave of the fresh powder up and over the Weasley boy. Pushing himself to his feet, Harry rejoined the snowball fight, ducking a fast throw from Ginny as Fred dumped a double handful of snow down her back and Luna beaned Fred with a snowball.

Neville and Ron came in from the right, each boy flinging snowballs as fast as he could, pelting Harry with flurries of packed snow as Harry sputtered out a ‘ _Protego_.’ “Hey! No Shield Charms!”

Harry made a rude gesture in response, shaking off snow as he paused to catch his breath. “What happened to ‘everyone for themselves?’”

“Fred and George teamed up,” Ron pointed out.

“Fred and George can’t be expected to fight each other,” Harry replied, casually ducking a snowball. Hermione yelped as the packed ball of powder nearly caught her, and she glared at Ginny, who shrugged apologetically.

“Ginny, we’d better get going soon,” Hermione called.

“You need three hours?” Ginny asked, glancing at her watch and taking a snowball upside the head from Fred for her lapse in concentration. She spun, kicking snow at her brother. “Oi! I was talking!”

“You don’t need that much time?” Hermione asked skeptically.

Ginny scoffed, spreading her hands. “How can you improve on this?” As if on cue, she was mercilessly pelted with snowballs from every direction.

“Well now you definitely need the extra time,” Hermione said primly. “Come on. Later, boys.”

“Wait, Ginny’s going?” Ron asked. “She’s only a third-year, who’s taking her?”

“Me,” Neville said. “You didn’t know?”

Ron paused. “No, no I didn’t.”

“Is that a problem?” Neville asked warily.

“Why would it be?” Ron asked.

“Because it’s your sister?” Harry suggested. “Most big brothers would be against anyone taking their sister to a dance. Afraid he’d take advantage or something.”

"Well, I am," Ron conceded. “But…it’s Neville.”

“Hey,” the blond boy protested.

“I don’t mean it like _that_. I just mean that I know you’re a decent bloke, so I’m cool with it.”

At seven, the boys made their way upstairs to change, still shaking off loose snow. With his family’s improved fortunes, Ron’s secondhand dress robes had been replaced with a handsome set of cobalt robes, and Harry nodded approvingly as he slipped into the bottle green robes he had picked out over the summer.

“How’d we wind up with the best-looking girls in the year, anyway?” Dean asked Ron as he tugged his robes into place.

“Animal magnetism,” Ron muttered.

“And a good wingman,” Harry called, contemplating trying an Imperius Curse to get his hair to cooperate.

Seamus snorted. “Come on, boys, we’ll be late.”

Parvati and Lavender were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Parvati in the same robes of shocking pink Harry remembered. Ron looked like he’d swallowed his tongue. After a few moments of him staring and Parvati grinning widely, Harry kicked Ron in the ankle.

“You look smashing,” Ron blurted out. “Really, really great. I mean, I am _so_ out of my league here.”

“Sometimes you have to give ‘em a nudge to unstick their brains,” Harry muttered to Neville, who was rubbing his chin to hide his smile as Seamus bantered with Lavender.

“Hermione’ll be down in a minute,” Parvati said to Harry. “Ginny’s around here somewhere, I saw her talking with Alicia. Dean, Padma’s waiting for you in the Entrance Hall.”

Harry wasn’t looking around for Ginny like Neville was. He was looking up at the top of the stairs, where Hermione had just appeared. With her hair done and styled, the fancy dress, and the different posture, she looked just as fantastic as Harry remembered. He nervously flattened his hair again, and Hermione grinned down at him as she descended the stairs, managing to make it look effortless.

“You look amazing,” Harry croaked as she joined them, his mouth dry as he tried to remember whether he’d put on deodorant. _Friend! Friend only! You’re from the future!_

“You clean up nicely yourself,” she said softly, taking his hand. “Come on.”

They made their way down to the Entrance Hall just in time to see the Durmstrang students enter with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in midnight blue robes that winked at Harry, Harry grinning back as he nodded at Krum. Over their heads he saw that an area of lawn right in front of the castle had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights – meaning hundreds of actual living fairies were sitting in the rosebushes that had been conjured there, and fluttering over the statues of what seemed to be Father Christmas and his reindeer.

“Who’s that with Krum?” Ron asked. “One of the Beauxbatons girls?”

“No, that’s Luna Lovegood,” Harry replied. “Plus a few years’ worth of Aging Potion.”

“She looks great,” the redhead blurted out. Harry stomped on his foot. “But not as great as Parvati does!”

“Nice save,” Parvati deadpanned. “I’ll admit, Loony – er, Luna – does look good.”

“Nice save,” Harry echoed.

Then Professor McGonagall’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

“We’d better go.” He offered Hermione his arm, and the girl beamed as she took it.

—ML—

As the Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause, Harry focused on his date, who was smiling, albeit nervously. “You ready?” He asked quietly.

She nodded. “For anything.”

The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune; Harry walked onto the brightly lit dance floor, holding Hermione’s hand, and a moment later his other hand was around Hermione’s waist and the two were revolving slowly on the spot.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” Hermione said after a few minutes of dancing.

“Oh, I can’t,” Harry said brightly. “I normally dance like a chicken being chased by a man with an ax, but I talked Professor Flitwick into charming my shoes.” Hermione giggled, and Harry refrained from mentioning that the Charms professor had subtly cast a Notice-Me-Not ward on Hagrid. “Until his Footloose Charm – as he called it – wears off, there’s nobody in Hogwarts that’s lighter on their feet. I could out-dance anyone right now.”

It didn’t take long until other couples joined them on the dance floor and the Champions were no longer the center of attention, but Harry kept his eyes on Hermione, who was biting her lip nervously. “Enjoying yourself?”

“I wasn’t sure I would, but I am,” she said shyly. “Are you?”

“Considering I’m dancing with a beautiful girl and nobody’s trying to kill me?” Harry replied. “Yeah. You really do look great.”

—ML—

When the dance finally ended at midnight, everyone gave the Weird Sisters a last, loud round of applause and started to wend their way into the entrance hall. As expected, Cedric caught up to Harry at the base of the marble staircase. “Can I speak to you? In private?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “You mind heading up without me?” Hermione nodded, heading up the stairs alongside Ron and their other friends.

“Listen…” Cedric lowered his voice as the others disappeared. “I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “It’s Mermish.”

Cedric’s face fell. “I…you figured yours out already?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said with a shrug. “I’m still working on a plan, but I know what I’m dealing with, at least. You?”

“I’ve got a few ideas. I guess I still owe you.”

“Don’t sweat it. Your heart’s in the right place.” Harry gave him an impish smile, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Did you have a nice evening?”

Cedric grinned. “I owe you for that, too.”

Harry winked. “Night doesn’t have to end yet, you know.”

Cedric laughed. “Now _that’s_ none of your business.”

When Harry made it up to the Gryffindor common room, he found his friends waiting up for him, chatting about the dance. “Harry!” Ron called as he spotted Harry coming through the portrait hole. “What did Cedric want?”

“Wanted to pass me a tip about the next task.”

“Why would he do that?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“Mostly because I warned him that the first task was dragons,” Harry said bluntly. “Also because I set him up with Cho Chang.”

“And why would _you_ do that?”

“Because I couldn’t stand the two of them making googly eyes at each other any longer.”

“Why would you tell him about the first task?” Ron said with a sigh. “You know what I was asking!”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Harry insisted. “I told him about the first task because I promised him I’d share anything I learned about the tournament. Besides, it was only fair, the other two champions knew by that point. I couldn’t let him be the only one going in blind.”

Neville shrugged. “You’re doing a lot more than surviving, Harry. You’re in the lead.”

“Yeah, well, there’s still two tasks to go,” Harry muttered.

Neville caught Ron’s eye and jerked his head at the stairs. “Anyway, we’d best be getting to bed, it’s been a long night,” Neville said, a touch formally. “Night, all.”

A moment later, Harry and Hermione were alone in the common room. “So…” Harry said after an awkward silence. “How was your evening?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You think it was an accident that they left us alone?”

“No, but I have yet to figure out why,” Harry said. _Liar! You fucked up!_

Hermione’s cheeks pinked slightly. “I suppose it could have something to do with the fact that we were hanging off each other all night. Even Ginny and Neville danced with other people.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Harry mused. “He didn’t even have enchanted shoes. Neville must be a better dancer than…”

“Harry.” He met her eyes, hunching his shoulders slightly. “I…I’m not good at this either.”

Harry gasped, pressing his hand to his chest in mock shock. “You’re admitting there’s something you’re not good at? Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?”

“Knock it off,” she sighed. “Harry, are we…are we…”

“Romantically interested in each other?” Harry shrugged. “Everyone seems to think we are. Your parents, Sirius and Remus, even Ron thought we might have something. I don’t know. I’ve never had a girlfriend, I’ve barely even had a crush before.”

“And…do you…on me?”

“Hermione, you’re one of my best friends,” Harry said.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“It’s the best I can give, right now,” Harry sighed. _God, this is messed up._

Hermione summoned her Gryffindor courage. “Well, I do, on you.”

Harry swallowed hard, doing his best to not resemble a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry, with only moderate success. “I’m…flattered?”

“Very smooth,” Hermione said dryly.

“I’m fourteen, what do you want from me,” Harry grumbled. “Gang up on the little orphan boy just because he’s not good with people and feelings.” _And because he’s been lying to you for as long as you’ve known him._

“Oh, come off it. You have no idea what you feel towards me?”

Harry met her eyes. _I’m from the future and I watched you die in my arms._ “I have several ideas. You have to understand this is all pretty new to me. Between the tournament and wondering who’s trying to off me, I’ve got a lot of things on my mind but you’ve never been _off_ my mind.”

Hermione smiled. “All right, that was pretty good.”

Harry slipped his hand into hers. “Look, I…I do care for you. A lot.” _And I can’t watch you die again_.

“I sense a but coming.”

“But someone’s trying to kill me, and if you got hurt, I’d never forgive myself,” Harry said truthfully, carefully quashing the image of Hermione lifeless in his arms as he squeezed her hand. “I’m not…I couldn’t put you in danger, Hermione.” _And I’m several years older than you!_

“So…no.”

“For now, at least,” Harry said. “I wouldn’t expect you to wait, but…once Professor Dumbledore and I get this mess sorted out, we can try, if you still want to then.” _By which point hopefully you’ll have moved on._

Hermione nodded, chewing her lower lip. “I understand.” She leaned closer, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Whatever happens, I enjoyed myself tonight. Thanks for a lovely evening, Harry.” She slowly walked up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, leaving Harry to silently press a hand to his cheek. _Fuck!_

—ML—

“Uh, Ginny,” Harry said at breakfast the next morning. “Not to be rude, but…why exactly is your sweater so large?” Ginny huffed and pushed her sleeves up her arms before pointing down the table. Harry followed the gesture and snorted. “Question answered. Hey George! Nice sweater!”

“Rather flattering, isn’t it?” George said, smoothing the sweater down. “Bit chilly at times with my midriff hanging out, but I’m getting all sorts of looks from the ladies.”

“George, give me my sweater,” Ginny said. “Mum would say you look ridiculous.”

“I wear it better and _you know it._ ”

—ML—

Harry erupted from the Black Lake, shaking violently and sputtering out vile lakewater.

“Tell me something, Harry,” Neville asked idly from dry land. “Why exactly are you practicing a Bubblehead Charm by attempting to drown yourself?”

“I learn best under pressure,” Harry coughed, sloshing out of the lake and hocking water out of his ears. “With my luck, I won’t get the hang of this until the day before the task.”

“And it has something to do with the task?” Neville asked cautiously.

Harry dried himself off with a quick charm. “How much do you want to know?”

“Whatever. I’m listening.”

“Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground,” Harry recited, having dunked his head in the sink with the egg to make sure Dumbledore hadn’t changed the clue just to screw with him. “And while you’re searching, ponder this: We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss, an hour long you’ll have to look, and to recover what we took. But past an hour, the prospect’s black, too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”

Neville blinked owlishly at him. “Which means…what.”

“It means I’m going to have an hour to recover something taken from me, and it’s a message from creatures that are only understandable underwater,” Harry said. “I figure that means merpeople.”

“Or you’re in for a long conversation with the giant squid,” Neville offered.

Harry grimaced. “Right. Let’s hope it’s merpeople, calamari isn’t really my thing.”

“Cala-what?”

Harry sighed. “There’s a whole world of food out there and wizards are just _missing out_.”

“You know, there’s other ways to breathe underwater,” Neville offered. “I read about a plant, gillyweed…”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “What kind of weed?”

“Gillyweed,” Neville repeated.

“I’m listening.”

—ML—

Harry turned the coin over in his hands. “This is impressive, even for you, Hermione.”

The girl blushed. “Not really, the theory is actually quite simple.”

“Hermione. Compliment. Take the compliment.”

“Why’d you have me make these, anyway?” Hermione asked.

“Because I figured you were getting bored in class and needed a challenge?”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Prat.”

“Because someone’s trying to off me and I’d like to have a way to signal for help? These will give me a way to call for help when things inevitably go south.”

—ML—

“And you say Miss Granger made these?” Dumbledore asked, examining the coin. “This is highly advanced magic, especially for a fourth year.”

“Hermione’s one of a kind,” Harry said proudly. “Now, keep the coins on you. If you feel them heat up, follow the trail of magic and come running with every wand you can find, because I’m _probably_ fighting for my life.”

“Probably?” McGonagall asked.

“Well, I could have found a really great gyro place and want to buy you all lunch, but I’m betting on the ‘fighting for my life’ part,” Harry said. “We’re still expecting Voldemort to attempt to kidnap me during the third task, right?”

Dumbledore nodded. “I would expect as much.”

“Do we have any idea who entered me?” Harry asked. “I’ve been checking the Marauder’s Map every time the judges are on the grounds, and everybody’s who they say they are.”

“We posted hidden portraits in the chamber with the Goblet of Fire,” Dumbledore explained. “None of them saw anything. By all appearances, your name spontaneously manifested in the Goblet.”

“Invisibility Cloak?” Harry asked.

“It would appear that way,” Dumbledore sighed. “Our adversary is quite clever.”

Harry rubbed at his forehead. “And annoying. I would have liked to be cheering Cedric on from the stands rather than competing.”

“Regardless, we are prepared,” Dumbledore said. “Most of the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix have been contacted. We may be few in numbers, but we can still make a difference.”

“It’s just too bad we can’t have them there waiting in advance,” Harry muttered. “While everyone dog-piling on Voldemort would be hilarious, if they spotted any of us, they’d just disappear.”

—ML—

Harry would have liked to avoid dealing with Bagman again, but his friends dragged him to the Three Broomsticks at the next Hogsmeade weekend. With Rita Skeeter apparently having missed the Yule Ball, there were no articles about Hagrid’s heritage causing problems, and Harry ordered a round of butterbeers from Madam Rosmerta.

“All right then, Harry?” the woman asked, placing them on the bartop.

“No complaints, besides someone’s trying to kill me again,” Harry said. “Keep an ear out for evil laughter, yeah?”

Rosmerta laughed. “You got it.”

“Doesn’t he ever go into the office?” Hermione whispered as Harry slid her drink over in front of her. “Look!”

She pointed into the mirror behind the bar, and Harry saw Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed and were looking rather menacing.

“Strange that he’s here now,” Harry remarked. “I suppose he could be helping plan for the next task?”

Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up, speaking brusquely to the goblins. Harry groaned as Bagman approached, marshalling his face into a neutral expression. “Harry!” Bagman said. “How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?”

“Fine, thanks,” Harry said, taking a long, slow pull on his drink without looking away from Bagman.

“Wonder if I could have a quick word, Harry?” Bagman asked eagerly. “In private? You couldn’t give us a moment, could you?”

“Er – okay,” said Ron, and he, Neville, and Hermione went off to find a table.

Bagman led Harry along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta. “Well, I just thought I’d congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that dragon, Harry,” Bagman said. “Really superb. I had no idea you were so good on a broom. And that shield charm!”

“Thanks.” Harry subtly gestured with his drink. “Something wrong with the goblins?”

Bagman glanced into the mirror. “Absolute nightmare,” he admitted in an undertone. “Their English isn’t too good, and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. And they’re the least of my problems.”

“What do they want?”

“Er – well…” said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. “It’s a bit of a long story.” Harry nodded expectantly. “I’d rather not go into it at the moment, I don’t think it’s anything you would need to worry about. Department head business and all that.” Rather abruptly, Bagman changed the subject. “How are you getting on with your golden egg?”

“Solved the clue, working on what to do about it,” Harry said, taking a pull on his butterbeer.

“Listen, Harry,” he said, still in a very low voice, “I feel very bad about all this… you were thrown into this tournament, you didn’t volunteer for it…and if…” His voice dropped lower, and Harry leaned closer to listen clearly. “If I can help at all…a prod in the right direction…I’ve taken a liking to you…the way you got past that dragon…well, just say the word.” Harry stared up into Bagman’s round, rosy face and his wide, baby-blue eyes.

“I’ve got a handle on it,” Harry replied calmly, looking in the bar mirror and spotting the goblins still staring at them. “You aren’t in any sort of trouble, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Bagman said, a touch too quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

Harry shrugged. “Just those goblins staring at you, is all.” He didn’t mention that it was roughly twenty-six degrees in the pub and Bagman was sweating profusely. “I wouldn’t want you to get in any trouble on my account. Someone might see us talking and think you were trying to give me an unfair advantage.”

“And we wouldn’t want that,” Bagman said airily. “Well, I must dash. Good luck, Harry.” He hurried out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him. Harry went to rejoin his friends.

“What did he want?” Ron said, the moment Harry had sat down.

“He offered to help me with the egg.”

“He shouldn’t be doing that!” Hermione said, looking very shocked. “He’s one of the judges! And anyway, you’ve already worked it out – haven’t you?”

“Thanks to Neville, I’ve got a plan,” Harry replied, nodding at Neville, who gave him an easy smile.

“Well, I don’t think Dumbledore would like it if he knew Bagman was trying to persuade you to cheat!” Hermione said, still looking deeply disapproving.

Harry gave her a confused look. “In case you haven’t noticed, Hermione, this whole tournament’s been crooked from the minute my name came out of the Goblet of Fire.”

“I still don’t like it,” Hermione said. “It’s…not ethical.”

“It’s not even legal, but that’s the Triwizard Tournament for you.”

“Those goblins didn’t look very friendly,” Neville said, sipping his butterbeer. “What were they doing here?”

“Bagman wouldn’t say,” Harry replied. “But they seemed awfully interested in him. They wouldn’t stop staring at him while we were talking, and then they follow him out of the pub?”

“Maybe he’s into them for some gold,” Ron suggested. “He did seem to be betting against anyone he could at the World Cup.”

Harry paused. “That’s a good point,” he admitted. “And he does seem awfully invested in me getting ahead in the tournament.”

“Could be he’s betting on you to win,” Neville said.

Hermione shook her head. “He’s a judge, he shouldn’t be betting one way or the other.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he _isn’t_ ,” Harry said. “You all know that these judges aren’t exactly impartial. Everyone wants their school to win, and you can bet that the Ministry judges have their own picks to win as well.” He finished his butterbeer with a long pull. “Who’s getting the next round?”

—ML—

“Harry, a quick question,” Neville said, looking at the lake. “You can swim, right?”

“I’ll manage,” Harry said. “I took some lessons during the summer last year.” The Dursleys would never have shed a tear if he’d managed to drown in the tub one day, and so had never bothered to take him along when Dudley had taken lessons at the local pool. “Besides, how can I drown if I’m breathing water?”

“Quite easily, since the stuff only lasts an hour,” Neville replied bluntly.

Harry shrugged. “If this takes more than an hour I’m done for anyway.” He stretched. “Wish I’d been able to test this.”

“You sure that Muggle getup is going to help?” Neville asked.

“It’s called a wetsuit, and yes,” Harry replied. “Mostly it’s going to keep me warm. Who decided swimming in a lake in February was a good idea, anyway?”

“The same people who decided chucking a teenager to a dragon was a great plan,” Neville said quietly.

Harry gasped. “Why Neville Longbottom! I never would have expected such cheek from you!”

“Well, you didn’t say it, so I had to,” Neville muttered with a shrug.

“You’ll keep an eye on things, yeah?” Neville nodded, understanding what Harry was asking and patting his pocket meaningfully.

“You’d better get to the stands, young man,” Bagman said as the judges approached the champions.

“Luck, Harry,” Neville said.

“No problem,” Harry replied, giving his friend a thumbs-up as Bagman spaced the champions out along the bank of the lake.

“All right, Harry?” Bagman whispered as he moved Harry a few feet farther away from Krum. “Know what you’re going to do?”

“I’m already on Plan B here, Plan A didn’t pan out,” Harry admitted. “But I’m ready.”

Bagman returned to the judges’ table, made the announcement, and as the whistle blew, the stands erupted with cheers and applause. Harry managed to gag down the last of the gillyweed before wading forward, the water up to his chest when he finally stopped. It took a minute for the vile stuff to kick in, and Harry dunked himself into the icy lake and took a refreshing gulp of water, kicking forward into the depths of the lake.

It was just as dark, mysterious, and annoyingly hard to see through as he remembered. He came upon the field of underwater weeds he remembered being infested with grindylows and kept a firm grip on his wand, swimming as quickly as he could. As he had expected, a grindylow seized hold of his ankle halfway through the field, several more emerging from the weed and grabbing handfuls of Harry’s wetsuit. Harry kicked out at the grindylow holding his ankle and yelped as the creature sank its fangs into his calf, blood fogging the water as Harry sent a stream of boiling water at the offending grindylow with a water-garbled ‘ _Relashio!_ ’ that sent it spinning away as he kicked free. More of the grindylows grabbed on, his wetsuit tearing under the assault as their claws scratched at him. A wide-scale Banishing Charm blew the others clear as he stroked forward, his leg oozing a trail of blood into the lake.

Attempting to follow the same path as he had his first time led him deeper and deeper into the lake. More than once, he stopped to realize he was going the wrong way, until he finally heard the mersong in the distance, the vaguely familiar cluster of stone dwellings emerging from the gloom as he swam on, ignoring the merpeople who emerged to watch him pass.

Harry wasted a good ten minutes swimming through the underwater village before shaking his head and swimming upwards, getting a better view of the layout and heading directly for the village square and the giant statue he remembered the hostages being tied to.

Having called it an early night, Harry had missed the messenger that had come for his would-be hostage, but he was only half-surprised to see Hermione in Ron’s place. What properly surprised him was that she was the only hostage left tied to the statue.

Harry glanced at his watch, a handy Waterproofing Charm keeping it functional. Fifty-five minutes of the allotted hour had passed. Harry drew the penknife Sirius had given him for Christmas, going to work on the thick ropes that bound his friend to the statue. After a bit of sawing at the fibers, Hermione floated, unconscious, a few inches above the lake bottom, drifting a little in the ebb of the water.

Harry glanced at his watch. Three minutes. He could feel the gillyweed starting to wear off. Bleeding, out of time, and too overburdened to make it back to the surface, Harry decided to think big.

—ML—

Dumbledore glanced at his watch for the fourth time in roughly twenty seconds. “Time is running short,” Karkaroff commented. “Perhaps Mister Potter ran into similar trouble to Miss Delacour?”

“She surfaced ten minutes ago, with her hostage,” Madam Maxime objected. “If the boy was in trouble, we would have seen it.”

True enough, the surface of the lake had had a charm cast upon it to make the goings on in the depths visible, preventing the crowds from watching the surface of a blank lake for an hour.

“He’ll show,” Dumbledore said confidently.

“He is too young to keep up,” Maxime said. “We should not expect these things of him.”

“Perhaps you coddle your students, but if the boy was entered, he must compete,” Karkaroff replied.

“Your objections have been noted again,” Dumbledore sighed, glancing at his watch again. “Mister Potter will show.” The Lake went black, and the crowd gasped.

“Is something wrong with the charm?” Karkaroff asked.

“Unlikely,” Dumbledore said. “The amount of magic it would take to disrupt it...”

The lake began to froth, waves lapping at the shoreline as streams of bubbles rose from the depths. The bubbling intensified, before the lake split, water moving aside as a path opened to the center of the lake. Striding out, soaking wet and shivering, was Harry Potter, Hermione walking beside him and supporting his weight as he tried to walk on his injured leg.

Harry and Hermione made their way to the edge, and Harry turned, waving his wand and letting the massive weight of water surge back to fill the empty space.

“The boy has talent,” Maxime commented after a pause.

Harry limped up to the judges stand, shaking water across the table as he tossed them a mocking salute. “Lovely day for a swim, isn’t it?”

“You appear to be bleeding,” Dumbledore remarked, still in shock at the display of power.

“Profusely,” Harry replied brightly, casting a binding on his leg wound. “And I’m sure swimming around in a filthy grimy lake for an hour didn’t get the wound infected at all. So can we get on with this? Preferably before I start oozing pus?”

“Right, of course,” Madame Bones said.

“Oh, and Headmaster?” Dumbledore turned back to Harry as the other judges gathered together. “Next time you have an incredibly dangerous contest on school grounds, I’d like a few weeks’ notice so I have time to _leave the country_.” He nodded to Hermione, who was trying and failing miserably to hide a smile as she brushed her sodden hair out of her eyes.

“Come here, you,” said Madam Pomfrey. She seized Harry and pulled them over to the others, wrapped him so tightly in a blanket that he felt as though he were in a straitjacket, and forced a measure of very hot potion down his throat as she began examining his leg wound. Steam gushed out of his ears, matching the steam erupting from his leg as she cleaned the wound with more of the salve she had used on Cedric’s injury from the dragon.

Harry looked around at the other champions and their hostages, spotting Gabrielle Delacour, Cho Chang, and oddly enough, Luna Lovegood all wrapped in blankets as well. “I guess you two hit it off?” He said to Krum, nodding at Luna.

Krum nodded. “She is, how do you English put it, a hoot?”

Harry snorted, nodding. “I got lost on the way down, they’ll probably knock points off for how long I took.”

“But that show you put on will probably even things up,” Cedric said. “I was first out, but we just swam out.”

Harry shrugged. “How’d you all do it? I never even saw you.”

“Self-Transfiguration,” Krum said simply. “Shark.”

“Inventive,” Harry said with a nod. “Fleur?”

“Bubble-head Charm,” she replied.

“Me too,” Cedric said. “What did you do?”

“Gillyweed,” Harry replied. “Got it by catalogue order. Couldn’t get the hang of the Bubble-head charm.”

Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Out of the available fifty points for each champion, we have decided to award the following…”

“Cedric Diggory demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm and was the first to retrieve his hostage. We award him forty-seven points.”

Enormous cheers erupted from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Harry saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look.

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points.” Karkaroff clapped particularly hard, looking very superior.

“Fleur Delacour also used the Bubble-Head Charm and was the third to return with her hostage. We therefore award her thirty-eight points.” Fleur looked somewhat put out, and Harry refrained from speculating aloud whether she would have received a higher score if she had been the first to return with a Bubble-Head Charm instead of Cedric.

“Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continued. “He returned last, and outside the time limit of an hour. We award him thirty points.” Harry winced. He had dropped from first to last place, and Cedric had taken the lead.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” continued Bagman. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

Harry glanced up at the stands at Neville, who met Harry’s eyes and shook his head. Satisfied that Rita Skeeter was nowhere nearby, Harry allowed himself to relax for the moment.

—ML—

In hindsight, Harry thought, he should have noticed that things had been going too well.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson’s gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn’t see and sniggering heartily. Pansys pug-like face peered excitedly around Goyle’s broad back as Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione approached.

“There they are, there they are!” she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands – Witch Weekly. “You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!” Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled. At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Slughorn beckoned them all inside, smiling broadly.

The four of them headed for a table at the back of the dungeon, and Hermione flipped through the pages hurriedly once Slughorn’s back was turned.

The boys leaned in closer as Hermione gestured at the article, and Harry rolled his eyes a moment later. A color photograph of Harry headed a short piece entitled: _Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache_.

By the time the others had finished reading the article, Harry was a third of the way through the preparation for the day’s potion. On the other side, Neville was making his own, but kept glancing over.

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” Hermione finally said.

“She’s writing it like you’re stringing Harry along,” Ron hissed. “That’s just…” He growled angrily, smashing his pestle into the bowl full of beetles and sending a few severed bug limbs flying across the worktable. “I mean, you two aren’t even together!” He paused. “Are you?”

“No,” Hermione said primly.

He resumed crushing the beetles. “Then what’s up her…” He paused as Slughorn passed by. “Rear?”

“Skeeter gets a kick out of peddling her slime,” Harry said.

“The ‘devious Miss Granger,’” Ron spat. “Anybody who knows you would be able to tell you’re not like that.”

“Well that’s not who Skeeter is writing to,” Neville said. “I’m guessing the main audience of Witch Weekly has no idea what Hermione is like.” He snorted. “Right. ‘Plain but ambitious.’ Ambitious, sure. Give her ten years and she’ll be running the country. But _plain_? You’re adorable, Hermione.”

“I’m aware, thank you,” the witch said loftily. “And if that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch.” She threw the magazine onto the empty chair beside her. “What rubbish.”

Harry sniffed the air. “I smell a lawsuit,” he said.

“No good,” Hermione replied. “You being a Champion makes you a public figure, and this was published as an _opinion_ piece, not a factual news story. And that’s assuming Muggle libel laws.” A faint smirk appeared on her face. “Oh, I have an idea.”

Harry looked at her warily. “Should I be afraid of that?”

“You? No. Skeeter? Oh, my, _yes_. She wants devious? I’ll show her devious.”

—ML—

The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which he needed to prepare, but considering he was actually ahead of the other Champions in terms of experience, the worst he had had to deal with so far was the good-natured ribbing from those in the know about his lackluster performance in the Second Task. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held him back in Transfiguration.

“You are to go down to the Quidditch field tonight at nine o’clock. Potter,” she said formally, making no mention of how badly she had beaten him in their last wandless spar. “Mr. Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.” So at half past eight that night, Harry left Gryffindor Tower and went downstairs. As he crossed the entrance hall, Cedric came up from the Hufflepuff common room.

“What d’you reckon it’s going to be?” he asked Harry as they went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. “Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we’ve got to find treasure.”

“Doubt it,” Harry said. “I mean, the Lake must have been hard enough to see for the spectators, watching an empty field for who knows how long would be a pretty poor show, wouldn’t it?”

“It has to be something to do with the Pitch, or they could have just told us in the castle itself,” Cedric replied. “Would they make us fly against each other?”

“I’m sure Karkaroff would love that, put Krum at an advantage,” Harry scoffed. “Two amateur Quidditch players against someone on a national team. Do the French play Quidditch in school? Presumably she knows how to ride a broom. A broom race would be exciting, I’ll grant you that, but if that’s the case, why not have a Quidditch Cup this year? Surely we could have gotten all of the matches out of the way before April. Maybe not, then.”

“I’ll bet it is a broom race, at that,” Cedric said. “I’ll bet you. It makes way too much sense.”

“A Galleon?”

“You’re on.” At that moment, they turned through the gap in the stands on the Pitch, and Cedric stopped short. “What’ve they done to it?” He asked indignantly.

“Well, that answers that question,” Harry muttered, examining one of the hedges. “They’re hedges, Cedric.”

“Hello there!” called a cheery voice.

Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur. Harry and Cedric made their way toward them, climbing over the hedges. Harry tried not to show his annoyance at his pre-growth spurt difficulty in mounting the hedges. Krum and Fleur gave respectful nods as they approached.

“Well, what d’you think?” said Bagman happily as Harry and Cedric climbed over the last hedge. “Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty feet high. Don’t worry,” he added, grinning, spotting the less than-happy expression on Cedric’s face and Harry’s confusion, “you’ll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?”

“It sure looks like a maze to me,” Harry said.

“That’s right!” said Bagman. “A maze. The third task’s really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the center of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.”

“Pay up,” Harry said immediately. Cedric laughed, fishing through a pocket for a Galleon and slapping it into Harry’s outstretched hand.

“We semply ‘ave to get through the maze?” Fleur asked, ignoring the Hogwarts byplay.

“There will be obstacles,” Bagman said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Professor Hagrid is providing a number of creatures, then there will be spells that must be broken, all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champion leading on points will get a head start into the maze.” Bagman nodded at Cedric. “Then Miss Delacour will enter, then Mister Krum, and finally Mister Potter. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

Harry shrugged, knowing only too well the kind of creatures that Hagrid was likely to provide for an event like this. The other champions nodded politely, clearly unaware of what they were in for.

“Very well. If you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly…”

Bagman hurried alongside Harry as they began to wend their way out of the growing maze. Harry had the feeling that Bagman was going to start offering to help him again, but just then, Krum tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Could I haff a vord?”

“Yeah, all right,” said Harry, slightly surprised.

“Vill you valk vith me?”

“Okay,” said Harry curiously.

Bagman looked slightly perturbed. “I’ll wait for you. Harry, shall I?”

“No, it’s okay, Mr. Bagman,” Harry said, suppressing a smile, “I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks.”

Harry wasn’t expecting an interrogation on his relationship with Hermione this time. Krum barely waited until they were out of earshot of Bagman before he spoke. “Has he offered…help, to you?”

“Repeatedly,” Harry said. “You?”

“Once. I vas…less than flattered, and made my feelings clear. Karkaroff is biased enough. Ven I vin this tournament, it vill be on my own merits, not his bias.”

Harry shrugged. “If you win this, it’ll be deserved. Fleur’s a fierce competitor.”

Krum raised an eyebrow. “Not Diggory?”

“Cedric? He’s too kind-hearted. Bagman didn’t mention it, but we’ll be facing more than the maze in there,” Harry said, jerking his head at the pitch. “We’ll be facing each other.”

“And you are not so kind-hearted?”

Harry forced a smile. “Viktor, I’ve had people trying to kill me since before I could control my bowel movements.” His smile faded. “I’m _very_ kind-hearted. But don’t for a minute think that means I’m soft.”

Krum eyed him for a moment, before smirking. “I do not. I read that article by that Skeeter woman. She is…unpleasant.”

“To say the least,” Harry said.

“Is there something between you and her?” Harry shuffled uncomfortably. “You said no before the Ball, but…”

“But everyone seemed to think we’re together, even before that stupid article,” Harry said irritably. “She’s not my girlfriend and she never has been.”

Krum gave him a knowing look. “But?”

“I…don’t give me that look,” Harry said defensively. “I’m in danger, being in this stupid tournament. I don’t want to put her in danger, too.”

Krum nodded. “Things such as that are…not uncommon at Durmstrang. People may hurt the loved ones of their enemies. She may be in danger regardless, due to that article. Be careful.”

“Of course,” Harry replied.

There was an awkward pause, before Krum nodded. “You fly very vell. I vos votching at the first task.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. “I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. The Wronski Feint you pulled, that was brilliant. And when you caught the Snitch?” He shook his head. “I was supporting Ireland – no offense – but I think everyone in the stands was rooting for you at that point.”

Krum shrugged. “I did vat I could. Ve did not vin.”

“You may not have won, but there was no doubt who the best Seeker on that pitch was.” Harry glanced at the darkening sky. “As much as I would like to keep talking, we should probably head back.”

—ML—

“Harry,” Luna said, “I need to speak with you.”

“Luna, sure,” Harry said, wiping his mouth and standing up from the table. “What’s up?”

Luna's face remained impassive. "I'm here in a professional capacity. The Quibbler is running an article on you, and I thought I would ask if you would like to comment?"

“An article?” Harry said. “Uh. No, I don’t think I need to comment.”

“Your call.” She handed him a copy of The Quibbler. “In that case, I thought you might like to see the new issue that’s coming out tomorrow. I understand the Daily Prophet is picking it up as well.” She skipped away, humming idly.

Harry paused, warily opening the pages as if expecting a scorpion to leap out of it. Upon reading the title, his eyes went wide. Within a few seconds, his jaw was hanging open, and a high-pitched squeak was escaping him.

_Boy-Who-Lived or Boy-Who-Boinked?_

_Following a recent opinion piece by noted sleaze-slinger Rita Skeeter, our skilled investigators have looked into the romantic escapades of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the fourth Triwizard Champion._

_Skeeter’s questionably-researched piece linked young Harry to his classmate Hermione Granger, who is well-known for being the top student in their year. However, an interview with Miss Granger revealed that the situation may be more complex than a simple teenage relationship._

_“Of course, I’ve been with him,” Miss Granger said in our interview. “Everyone has. He’s a handful – more than a handful. You can’t cage that lion, you know? He was lovely to have over at Christmas. My parents had their work cut for them with him.”_

_Further investigation has revealed a shockingly large list of Hogwarts students who also claim to have been involved with Harry, casting doubt on Skeeter’s narrative of a selfish young woman playing on a smitten boy’s affections. Following are a selection of the testimonials._

_“Yes, I did the Potter boy” – Viktor Krum, fellow Triwizard Champion and Durmstrang student_

_“Of course, Harry is so lovely” – Fleur Delacour, fellow Triwizard Champion and Beauxbatons student_

_“I showed him some nice moves on the Quidditch pitch” – Cedric Digory, fellow Triwizard Champion and Hufflepuff Prefect_

_“He had us at the same time” – Fred and George Weasley_

_“Let’s just say that he can ride more than just a broom” – Oliver Wood, former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United_

_“He’s marvelous with his hands” – Ginerva Weasley_

_“He made us bisexual” – Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas_

_“He was too much for me, and I work with dragons for a living” – Charlie Weasley, noted dragon handler_

_“I don’t usually go for Gryffindors, but him…” – Cho Chang_

_“We’re his little Cream Puffs” – Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, Hufflepuff House_

_“The only man welcome in our showers after practice” – Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet, Gryffindor Quidditch Chasers_

_“He promised me I could run the harem” – Lavender Brown_

_“It can be a lot to take in, if you know what I mean” – Justin Finch-Fletchley_

_“I was Head Boy, but he was still top” – Bill Weasley, Gringotts Curse-Breaker_

_“Brilliant and very diligent in anything he sets his mind to” – Percy Weasley, Junior Undersecretary at the Department of International Magical Cooperation_

_“Harry truly is amazing, he is always so gentle with us” – the Quibbler’s own Luna Lovegood, interviewed with Neville Longbottom_

_“I’m straight, but it’s hard to get any sleep in the dorms with Harry carrying on the way he does,” – Ron Weasley_

_“[CENSORED]” – Nymphadora Tonks, recently-graduated Hogwarts student and Auror trainee_

Harry closed the paper rather than read anymore. He took a long drink from his goblet, before tucking the folded paper under his arm and walking out of the Great Hall where he could laugh himself sick in privacy. He paused at the Ravenclaw table, trying to hold back the laughter. “Erm, Luna?”

She looked up at him serenely. “Yes?”

“I would like to comment after all.” She whipped out a quill and a scrap of parchment. “You’re next.”

—ML—

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. “Bertha Jorkins, missing. Barty Crouch, dead. Barty Crouch Junior, missing and presumably returned to Voldemort. The man whose death you mentioned, Frank Bryce? I checked, and it appears he is still among the living. The puzzle pieces are all there, but I am not wise enough to put them together.”

“There are still too many questions,” Harry said. “If he’s not in Little Hangleton, where is Voldemort hiding? Did Crouch make it back to him? And if not Crouch, who entered my name in the Goblet? Everyone’s who they say they are.”

“But they may not be themselves,” Dumbledore pointed out. “Remember your lessons. The true insidious nature of the Imperius Curse lies not only in the degree of control it grants but also in the difficulty of detecting it.”

Harry rubbed his forehead. “Wonderful. Now we have to wonder who’s being mind-controlled. I suppose all we can do is play out this stupid plan.”

“We have taken what precautions we can,” Dumbledore said. “Given that we have some idea of what’s coming, you will not be unarmed.”

“Just scared out of my wits,” Harry muttered.

Dumbledore nodded. “Now, what exactly have you been up to?”

Harry gave him an innocent look. “Whatever do you mean, Professor?”

“Do you have a Time-Turner I don’t know about?” Dumbledore asked. “Because between your schoolwork, our collaboration, and the Tournament, I am truly shocked that you have had time to…sow your wild oats so widely.”

Harry sputtered out a laugh. “That’s one way of putting it!”

“Admittedly, not many people are putting much stock in Rita Skeeter’s writing anymore, but I am worried what such a…” Dumbledore paused, his eyes twinkling madly, “scandalous article, would do to your future employment prospects.”

“To be fair, it was Hermione’s idea,” Harry admitted. “I’m honestly surprised by her thinking of that, let alone all those other people giving statements.”

“This did not happen before?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry’s face soured. “No. Hermione went with Viktor Krum, and I went with Parvati Patil to the Yule Ball. Unfortunately, Skeeter was in her beetle form outside the castle, looking for whatever gossip she could pick up. Unfortunately, she just happened to overhear Hagrid speaking to Madame Maxine.” Dumbledore’s brows furrowed. “He told her that he was half-giant, and spread that all over the papers. Luckily, we managed to avoid that this time.”

“And if Miss Granger was not your date to the Ball, but Mister Krum’s…”

“She was also his hostage during the Second Task,” Harry finished. “Skeeter was there as well, listening in on Krum and Hermione talking. Then she spun it into an article – with the same headline, Rita’s not very creative – and made it seem like Hermione was two-timing Krum with me.” He paused. “Or me with Krum. I don’t quite remember which, I tried to focus on things that weren’t _completely_ stupid. Either way, she got loads of hate mail, Rita dragged our names through the mud. It wasn’t until the end of the year that Hermione caught Rita.”

“At what?”

“Literally,” Harry said. “She ruddy imprisoned Rita in an unbreakable jar for months.” Dumbledore’s eyes widened. “Yeah. She can be pretty cold-blooded when she wants to be.”

—ML—

Angelina sat down across from Harry at the Gryffindor table the morning of the third task and eyed him seriously. “Are you ready?”

Harry looked up from his eggs. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

“Probably not,” Angelina admitted. “Just…do your best, all right? If you perform in there half as well as you fly, you’ll win.”

Harry grinned. “If I do, can I meet you, Alicia, and Katie in the showers?”

“You think you can keep up with us?” Angelina purred.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but spotted movement off to the side. “We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”

Professor McGonagall came walking alongside the table toward him. “Potter, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast.”

Harry nodded, standing up. “I’ll catch up with you later, yeah?” Ron nodded. “Lay on, MacDuff.” Hermione snickered into her porridge.

McGonagall sighed. “That wasn’t any funnier the first four times, young man.”

“But it’s not _less_ funny, which is the important part,” Harry replied. “A joke needs staying power.”

“I suppose you know what’s in that chamber.”

“If it’s a severed head, I’m going to be very upset,” Harry quipped.

McGonagall pushed the door open, waiting outside. “Party on, Harry.” Harry did a double-take as he walked past her, not expecting her to understand the reference.

Cedric and his parents were just inside the door. Viktor was conversing with his own mother and father in rapid Bulgarian, and Fleur was speaking French to her mother on the other side of the room. And waiting for him in front of the fireplace was not only Sirius and Remus, but Bill, Molly, and Arthur Weasley.

“Surprise!” Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as he smiled broadly and walked over to them. “Thought we’d come and watch you.” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek once Harry had hugged Remus and Sirius.

“You all right?” said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. “Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn’t get time off. He said you were incredible against the dragon.”

“I’m doing all right,” Harry said, glancing at Fleur and tracking her gaze directly to Bill. “I really appreciate you all coming.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Sirius said. “Er, Bill, is that French champion eyeing up you or me?”

“Me, I think,” Bill said without looking.

Sirius let out a sigh of relief. “I had hoped so, she’s young enough to be my daughter and I _did_ spend some time in Paris…” Molly elbowed him sharply as Arthur rubbed his chin to hide his smile.

“Would you like an introduction?” Harry asked. “Hands across the English Channel and all that?”

“I got this,” Bill said, walking over and speaking to Fleur and her mother in flawless French.

The others were left staring. “He speaks French?” Harry asked after a moment.

“And Ancient Greek and Latin,” Molly said proudly.

“Always wanted to learn Latin,” Sirius mused. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“You have enough trouble with English,” Harry said.

Sirius gave him a mock glare. “You looking to get bumped off before the task tonight?”

Harry raised his hands. “Just teasing.” He glanced at Bill and Fleur, who were deep in conversation. “Should we leave him?”

“Never interfere with a man on a mission,” Sirius said.

“Fancy giving us a tour, Harry?” said Remus.

Harry stared at him a moment. “You _taught_ here less than two years ago.”

“Yes, but it’s that or we stand here staring at Bill,” Sirius pointed out.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry conceded, and they made their way back toward the door into the Great Hall. As they passed Amos Diggory, he looked around.

“There you are, are you?” he said, looking Harry up and down. “Bet you’re not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric’s caught you up on points, are you?”

“What?” said Harry.

“Ignore him,” said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his father. “He’s been angry ever since Rita Skeeters article about the Triwizard Tournament – you know, when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion.”

“Ah, yeah,” Harry said. “I hear she’s been too tied up by my solicitors to write any more of her sleaze for the _Prophet_. The only ones willing to publish her work are the idiots at Witch Weekly.” Harry looked Diggory in the eyes. “If you actually read the article, you’ll know I was entered against my will. Winning’s not important to me. I’m just trying to survive.”

Mr. Diggory looked as though he was going to say something angry, but his wife laid a hand on his arm, and he merely shrugged and turned away.

The group spent the morning walking over the sunny grounds, Harry showing them the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship. Bill rejoined them, a quiet smile on his face as he tucked away a strip of parchment Harry was certain had Fleur’s address on it. Mrs. Weasley was intrigued by the Whomping Willow, which had been planted after she had left school, and Sirius and Remus shared a look before silently agreeing not to tell her the details. They returned to the castle for lunch.

“Mum – Dad! Bill!” said Ron, looking stunned, as he joined the Gryffindor table. “What’re you doing here?”

“Come to watch Harry in the last task!” said Mrs. Weasley brightly. “I must say, it makes a lovely change, not having to cook. How was your exam?”

“Oh… okay,” said Ron. “Couldn’t remember all the goblin rebels’ names, so I invented a few. It’s all right,” he said, helping himself to a Cornish pasty, while Mrs. Weasley looked stern, “they’re all called stuff like Bodrod the Bearded and Urg the Unclean; it wasn’t hard.”

Arthur bit back a laugh. “I think I had an uncle named Bodrod, actually.”

Harry and the visitors took a trip around the castle during the afternoon, the Weasleys swapping stories with Sirius and Remus about the various secret passages and rooms they had found around the castle.

The evening feast had additional courses and the students were buzzing with excitement about the upcoming task. As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell. “Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. The champions should please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now.”

Harry got up. The Gryffindors all along the table were applauding him; the Weasleys and Hermione all wished him good luck. He exchanged nods with Sirius and Remus, and he headed off out of the Great Hall with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor.

“Feeling all right, Harry?” Bagman asked as they went down the stone steps onto the grounds. “Confident?”

“You figure I’ve got time to use the loo?” Harry joked. “I realize the maze is _made_ of bushes, but still…” Cedric snorted out a laugh, and Harry shook his head at Bagman’s confused look.

—ML—

He had been in the maze for twenty minutes according to his watch, and so far, Harry hadn’t seen anything larger than a particularly menacing branch. Either the other champions had cleared the way for him, or his luck was changing for the better.

“Harry?” Harry spun, and Cedric ducked the reflexive stunner. “Easy! That is you, isn’t it?”

Harry paused. “Have you seen more than one of me?”

“I’m not taking anything for granted in here,” Cedric said quietly. “No witnesses, after all.”

Harry stared at him. “I suppose not. Is this the part where we turn on each other?”

“I’m really hoping not,” Cedric admitted. “It wouldn’t look very good for Hogwarts if we took each other out and left Fleur and Krum to get the Cup themselves.”

“And I really don’t want to be a part of this anyway,” Harry said. “Even if I did win, nobody would believe a fourth-year outdid three seventh-years without someone monkeying around with the tournament. Work together?”

“Work together,” Cedric confirmed. “You watch my back, I’ll watch yours.” He extended a hand, and Harry took it, only to be yanked forward and off-balance. “ _Reducto_!” A blast-ended skrewt blew into bloody chunks as Cedric’s spell hit it. “Sorry, didn’t see it until just then.”

Harry looked at the messy remains of the skrewt and shook his head. “I knew these things were bad news. Thanks. I owe you one.”

“I still owed you one for the dragons,” Cedric replied. “We’re even.”

Harry stared at him. “You are _nauseatingly_ noble, you know that?”

Cedric shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

“C’mon. _Point me._ ” Harry pointed ahead. “Thataway.”

—ML—

Cedric cast binding after binding on his mangled leg. “Bloody acromantula,” he swore. “I’m just glad it didn’t bite me properly. That venom is deadly.”

“Come on, we can still make it,” Harry urged over the crackling of the flames, ignoring the stench of burning spider.

Cedric shook his head. “I’m out. My leg’s broken in at least two places, I can’t walk. Go get the Cup. I’m sending up sparks.”

Harry grimaced. “All right. Stay safe, yeah? I didn’t save your ass for something to come along and polish you off.”

Cedric snorted. “I’ll be fine. Go. Get the Cup!”

Harry took off at a run, pausing at each turn just long enough to check his directions and sprinting into the clearing, the Cup in sight.

“No!” He heard from behind him, and chanced a glance to see Viktor break into a sprint for the Cup.

Krum had longer legs and better physical conditioning. Harry had twenty meters’ lead on him and was already running for all he was worth.

“It’s a trap!” Harry shouted desperately as Krum closed on him. “The Cup is a Portkey!” He dove for the Cup, feeling Krum’s hands close on the back of his robes as his own hands closed around the Cup.

Despondently, Harry felt the hook of Portkey travel behind his navel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty sure this is the point where I completely jump the shark. At least I've now got a million words posted on this account, whoo!

Harry and Krum landed in a heap, Harry still holding the Cup. “Vat is going on?” Krum asked, standing up and drawing his wand. “There is more?”

“No, this is the trap I warned you about,” Harry said, dusting himself off and not letting go of the Cup. He wordlessly Switched Krum’s wand for a stone from the ground, pocketing the wand. “Catch.” He tossed the Cup to Krum, who caught it reflexively and disappeared as the Portkey activated again.

Then Harry dropped to the ground as his scar exploded in pain, the agony battering against his Occlumency shields as he tried to push the pain away.

Through his blurred vision, Harry saw a figure approaching, and heard a muttered spell through the ringing in his ears. Then he was flying backwards, slamming painfully into a headstone, his arm pinned between his body and the headstone. Harry gasped and coughed as the wind was knocked out of him, and he groped for his wand, his other wrist throbbing in pain.

“Don’t bother, boy,” a voice muttered. “I’ve got your wand.”

“Do not waste time,” a shrill voice hissed. “This body will not last much longer. I can feel it.”

Harry’s vision cleared as he felt conjured ropes tying him to the headstone, and he tilted his head as he saw the two figures in front of him. “ _Lockhart?_ ”

Sure enough, it was Gilderoy Lockhart in front of him, his usual vapid grin replaced with a blank frown. The man didn’t respond, the bundle in his arms wriggling slightly. The other man was pacing nearby, keeping watch with his hood up.

Harry turned his wrist, wincing as he felt the bones grinding against each other, and looked at his watch. The face was smashed in, all three hands gone and the inner workings exposed and mangled.

 _So much for plan A_ , Harry thought. The emergency Portkey was almost certainly destroyed, and Harry couldn’t activate it with the watch in that condition anyway.

Lockhart deposited Voldemort in the cauldron, before drawing his wand. “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” Lockhart said, his voice flat and toneless.

Harry watched as the surface around his feet cracked and a fine trail of dust floated up into the air and landed gently in the cauldron. The water immediately started hissing as it sent sparks in all directions and turned a vibrant, deadly-looking blue. Lockhart drew a long dagger from his cloak. “Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master,” he said before silently lopping off his left hand. Once the severed flesh made contact with the concoction, it turned a bright red. Lockhart tapped his wand against his stump, the spurting blood stopping immediately, and turned to Harry again.

“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe,” Lockhart said, kneeling beside Harry. At this range, Harry could see his eyes, the man’s pupils blown wide and his eyes glazed and heavily bloodshot. Lockhart drew a ragged cut down Harry’s arm, taking a vial of his blood and shambling back to the cauldron. When it was added, the liquid within turned, instantly, a blinding white.

For a brief moment, Harry hoped whatever ancient magic his mother had invoked would kick in and incinerate the entire cauldron, but nothing unexpected happened. Finally, the sparks emanating from the cauldron were extinguished, and a plume of steam billowed from the mouth of the cauldron.

And the outline of a man rose. “Robe me,” Voldemort ordered. The voice sent a chill down Harry’s spine. It was a voice he had hoped to never hear coming from an independent body again.

Lord Voldemort had returned.

The other man pulled the robes Voldemort had been swaddled in over the newly risen Dark Lord’s head, before bowing deeply and stepping back. “Roll up your sleeve,” Voldemort ordered. The man exposed a Dark Mark, and Harry watched silently as Voldemort pressed a finger to it. The man threw his head back, whether in pain or ecstasy, Harry wasn’t sure. “They are coming,” Voldemort said, sparing a glance to Lockhart. “ _Avada Kedavra_.” The man dropped, dead.

Voldemort finally took notice of Harry, still tied to the headstone. “Harry...Potter.”

“How’s it hanging, shitbird?” Harry asked calmly. “Itchy and shriveled? I’m sure you could still find someone to rub it, there must have been some reason you kept Bellatrix around. Or are you a man’s man, and that’s what purpose Lucius served all those years? God knows they’re fucking useless otherwise.” Harry choked out a scream as Voldemort casually hit him with a Cruciatus. “You know that really stings?”

“You will speak with respect, boy,” Voldemort said softly.

“Never really learned how,” Harry admitted. “Frankly, I’ve sassed everyone else, I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.” Voldemort hit him with another Cruciatus. “Try again, I think I can hit the high C!” He tried to hide the tremors wracking his body. “You really need to work on your people skills.”

The other Death Eaters arrived, Apparating between graves, behind trees, in every shadowy space, all of them hooded and masked. Harry listened with half an ear as Voldemort addressed his Death Eaters, groping for the coin in his pocket.

The other man who had been there from the beginning spotted the movement and approached, and Harry swallowed hard. “Barty Crouch Junior,” he murmured. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was,” the man rasped. “Now be quiet.”

“Ah, Bartemius,” Voldemort said softly. “You truly are loyal. You sought me out after my fall. Without you, this would have been impossible.”

“I live to serve, my lord,” Crouch murmured.

“He lived because of his father’s foolish sentimentality,” Voldemort explained to the crowd. “His mother begged his father to allow her to switch places with him in Azkaban, you see, and for a man who clung so staunchly to the idea of fighting against Dark wizards, he was remarkably quick to allow it. He kept his son under the Imperius for years, and until a few years ago he had no way of escape. But then, ah, then...” Voldemort smirked. “After that idiot Pettigrew was exposed and captured at Hogwarts, his father faced an investigation. He was distracted, his focus weakened, and my faithful servant broke free of his control, seized his wand, and killed him with it. An impressive feat, truly. When Quirinius’s body failed me, I returned to Albania to recover. This man followed the path Quirrell had taken through the country, searching for any sign of me. _That_ is dedication. It is what all of _you_ should have done.”

“And Gilderoy,” Voldemort said, toeing the carcass. “Poor helpless, brainless Gilderoy. He sought me out too. The man was a fraud, and assumed I was a mere beast some local would destroy and wanted to take credit for it. I burned his mind to nothing, took his person and made it into a servant. He had his uses these past few months. With Bartemius away, he kept my makeshift body from collapsing until the time was right. Until young Harry here could be brought to me.”

“Hi, everyone,” Harry said dully, fighting the shivers that were only partly from the cold. “Why don’t we go around the circle and introduce ourselves?”

“Yes,” said Voldemort, a grin curling his mouth as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry’s direction. “Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor.”

One of the Death Eaters spoke. Harry recognized the voice as Lucius Malfoy. “Master, we crave to know, we beg you to tell us…how you have achieved this, this _miracle_ …how you managed to return to us.”

“Ah, what a story it is, Lucius,” said Voldemort. “And it begins – and ends – with my young friend here.” He walked lazily over to stand next to Harry, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. “You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?” Voldemort said softly, his red eyes upon Harry. Harry was focusing on his Occlumency, trying to block out the throbbing in his scar. “You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him – and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen. I could not touch the boy.” Voldemort tilted his head slightly, as if examining Harry. “His mother left upon him the traces of her sacrifice. This is old magic, I should have remembered it, I was foolish to overlook it, but no matter. I can touch him now.”

When Voldemort laid a hand upon his face, Harry was sure his skin had split open. He shoved the pain away, trying not to scream as his flesh felt as if it was searing under Voldemort’s icy touch, but he thrashed against the ropes nonetheless. Voldemort laughed softly, then took the hand away and continued addressing the Death Eaters.

Harry kept a glare focused on Voldemort as he tried to slow his pounding heart. He had almost gotten his hand to his pocket and the signal coin, but his writhing had moved his hand away, and Barty Crouch Jr. was keeping an eye on him.

“It was Bartemius’s untiring work, you see,” Voldemort was saying. “He took great pains to ensure young Harry was entered in the Tournament, and I will admit, the boy acquitted himself well in the tasks. But the moment he touched that Cup, that Portkey, he was brought here. And here he is. The boy you all believed had been my downfall.” Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry, his wand raised. “ _Crucio_!”

Harry was very rapidly learning that the Cruciatus did not impart any sort of resistance with repeated exposure. When Voldemort finally let up, Harry lay there, panting, preparing himself for what he knew was coming next. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter.

“You see, I think, how foolish it was to suppose that this boy could ever have been stronger than me,” said Voldemort. “But I want there to be no mistake in anybody’s mind. Harry Potter escaped me by a lucky chance. And I am now going to prove my power by killing him, here and now, in front of you all, when there is no Dumbledore to help him, and no mother to die for him. I will give him his chance. He will be allowed to fight, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger.”

“Insecure much?” Harry asked, panting. He paused, spitting out a glob of blood from where he had bitten his tongue. “Murdering a tied-up, fourteen-year-old boy to prove how much of a big bad Dark Lord you are?”

“Untie him, Bartemius, and give him back his wand.”

A few moments later, Harry was on his feet, nervously spinning his wand in his hand.

“You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asked softly.

“Not enough that I feel confident trying to fight you and your butt-boys,” Harry replied. “But I have to warn you, fighting me would be a really bad idea for you.”

Voldemort smirked, and a few of the Death Eaters laughed. “Is that so?”

Harry shrugged and stretched, Switching his wand for Krum’s with a flick of his hand. “Go ahead, flip that coin. You almost died the last time. Do you want to try again?”

“Arrogant boy,” Voldemort hissed. “You think you stand a chance in a duel?”

Harry pushed the pain and tremors down in his mind, burying them under an iron resolve. “I think I’m going to find out one way or the other. But you doubt, don’t you?” He nodded at the Death Eaters. “You’re not doing this to reassure _them_. You’re doing it to prove it to yourself. Deep down, you worry there might be something about me that you can’t beat. That a teenager might be stronger than you. So you’re going to try to kill me to prove you’re the strongest. So let’s get this over with. We bow, right?”

“Yes, yes, the niceties must be observed. Dumbledore would like you to show some manners. Bow to death, Harry,” Voldemort coaxed.

Harry choked on a laugh. “Death? I’ve seen Death, looked him in the eyes. Had a pleasant conversation with him. You don’t scare me half as bad as he did.”

“ _Crucio!_ ”

Harry batted the curse aside. “That’s your idea of manners? We haven’t even bowed to each other yet.”

There was a momentary flicker of uncertainty in Voldemort’s snakelike eyes. “You have talent, boy.”

“And a fuckload of luck,” Harry added. “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.”

Before Harry could move an inch, three bludgeoners were headed his way. Rather than block, Harry twisted between them, sending a barrage of piercing hexes back at Voldemort and landing on his feet. His broken wrist was throbbing, but Harry hit the dirt, rolling behind a headstone as a blasting curse zipped over his head and reduced a statue to stone splinters. Taking a precious second to numb his wrist, Harry pulled his feet under him and sprinted for new cover, sending a mess of offensive magic over the row of headstones – bone-breakers, incendiaries, freezing spells, and a strong concussive wave that ran low as a feet-sweeper.

Several Death Eaters cried out in pain, and a single Killing Curse blew apart a headstone Harry was diving for. Voldemort shrieked as Harry tucked and rolled, bleeding from a half-dozen places he had been cut by flying pieces of stone. “The boy is mine! Do not interfere! _Serpentsortia_!”

Harry broke out an Albus Dumbledore special – a firewhip the style of which he’d seen Dumbledore use in several practice duels he had had with the Headmaster. Voldemort flinched, and Harry pressed the advantage, lashing the whip through Voldemort’s conjured snakes and through several headstones, knocking more dust and smoke into the air. Under the cover of the cloud of vaporized marble, Harry Transfigured and animated a dozen Hufflepuff badgers from debris, sending them scrambling towards the Dark Lord at different angles. A pair of Ravenclaw eagles came soaring down from above as Harry sent a roughly transfigured lion loping through the smoke, before his instincts screamed at him to duck.

A bolt of lightning came spearing through the smoke cloud, followed by the eagles’ death shrieks and cries of pain from the badgers. The downside to animals conjured or Transfigured from debris was that they tended to be fragile.

Harry wrapped a duelist shield around his off hand, before sending a spray of blasting curses and distracting jinxes downrange, trying to saturate Voldemort rather than get a precision shot in. The lion roared, and Voldemort grunted in pain as either one of the curses or the lion made contact. Thrusting his off hand into his pocket, Harry activated the coin, feeling it warm up as the message was sent.

Harry sent a twisting helix of fire through the smoke. A screech of pain told him he’d managed to hit something, and Harry ducked again as a mass of Dark magic came screaming back at him. Acid sprays, shredder curses, bursts of flame and lightning soared back and forth as Harry dodged what he could and blocked what he had to. “Come on!” Harry taunted. “I’m right here!” As Voldemort turned, locking on to the sound of his voice, Harry turned on his heel, breaking out his trump card. He vanished, appearing several meters away and unleashing another spread of curses before fake-Apparating again.

“The boy is Apparating somehow!” One of the Death Eaters shouted as Harry switched behind Voldemort. “My lord, behind you!”

Harry’s ice spear shattered as Voldemort turned, the Dark Lord blocking the attack almost contemptuously. “It will do you no good,” he hissed. “You are mine to kill!”

“Then do it!” Harry shouted, switching himself with the space behind Voldemort and hitting him with a point-blank Banishing spell that sent him flying ungracefully into a headstone. He wasn’t prepared for the fiery ball of concussive force Voldemort left behind, and Harry hit the ground, his clothes smoking. Both sat up, battered and bleeding, and Harry Switched wands again. “Oh, we’ll be at this all night.”

“It will only take me moments to end you,” Voldemort spat.

“You’ve been trying for fourteen years, and it hasn’t stuck yet!”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” The two spells met, and the wands linked, just as Harry had expected.

The cage of light appeared, and Voldemort shrieked to his Death Eaters not to interfere as the phoenix song began. “Do it, then!” Harry bellowed over the song. “Kill me if you can, you worthless maniac!” The beam of light blossomed into the beads Harry remembered, and Harry focused his will, shoving the beads back toward Voldemort. The beads connected with Voldemort’s wand, and Harry could hear echoing screams of pain as the memory of the Cruciatus Curses Voldemort had used were expelled from the wand.

The coin heated up in his pocket, and Harry broke the connection, the Phoenix song abruptly cutting out.

“My, my, Harry, this is impressive,” Voldemort remarked. “So what now? Are we to continue dueling for eternity?”

“Or you could surrender,” Harry suggested brightly as the Death Eaters closed in.

At the darkest hour of the story, when hope seems lost, it's good for the hero to dig deep and find a reason to keep going.

It's even better for the hero's friends to show up with lots of help. There were multiple cracks signaling incoming Apparation, and half the assembled Death Eaters went down immediately as they were caught in the back by spellfire. The rest scattered, trying to return fire amidst the chaos.

Sirius Black strode out of the darkness, his face locked in a rictus of fury. “ _Get away from my godson_.”

“Ah, Sirius Black,” Voldemort remarked calmly, Sirius still walking towards him. “I haven't seen a Black since I killed your brother.”

Sirius didn't reply. Instead, his wand flashed, a dozen different curses bursting forth in less than a second. Harry ducked for cover and opened up with several curses of his own as Voldemort parried. Remus came in from another direction, his wand flaring with bone-breakers and bludgeoning curses. A hand came down on his shoulder, and Harry nearly punched the newcomer until he realized it was Ron.

“Come on, we gotta get you out of here!” Ron hissed. Hermione and Neville were waiting a dozen meters away with McGonagall, who had a dozen different animated constructs milling about, standing guard.

“The ruddy hell are you doing here?” Harry asked as he let himself be hauled along, making sure Ron kept low.

“We're your backup,” Ron explained. “Come on!”

“Who else is here?” Harry asked McGonagall as the group withdrew from the fight, Remus and Sirius still dueling Voldemort.

“No time to explain, come on,” McGonagall urged. Harry shoved her aside, the professor yelping as Harry Stunned a Death Eater. “Merlin, I didn't even see him.”

“Bring him along,” Harry ordered. McGonagall transfigured him into a coin, pocketing it and sending her constructs to aid Remus and Sirius. “Who else is here?”

“Filius is here, Dumbledore is on the way,” McGonagall said, casually batting away a Dark cutting curse and sending several hexes of her own back. Harry disarmed the Death Eater with a murmured _Expelliarmus_ , and Hermione caught him with a Stunning Spell, McGonagall transfiguring the Death Eater and pocketing him as well. “These three grabbed ahold of the Portkey as we were assembling.”

“Flitwick is fighting all those Death Eaters _alone_?” Harry asked.

“He can handle it,” McGonagall said. “Our first priority is getting you out of here.” The group had backed away from the fight, and McGonagall pulled a cord from her robes. “Everyone grab on. It's a Portkey.” The four children seized hold of the cord, and McGonagall ducked as a spell flew by. “ _Portus_.”

As the Portkey activated and Harry felt the familiar hook behind his navel, something slammed into his back. The group landed in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, and Harry heard hollering as a heavy weight landed on him, knocking his glasses off. Suddenly, the weight vanished, and Harry rolled over, grabbing his glasses and spotting a Death Eater being pummeled by Ron and Neville, both wizards having forgone their wands in favor of a more direct approach. They kept punching him a good ten seconds after Harry retrieved his wand and Stunned the man.

Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, brandishing her wand. “What the – _what is going on here_?”

“Long story,” Harry rasped, pushing himself to his feet. “Can you restrain this man?” Pomfrey hit the man with another Stunner, before conjuring ropes and levitating him into a bed. “McGonagall, Flitwick, Sirius and Remus are still there.” As he spoke, there was a thump from behind him, and Harry spun, spotting Sirius laying on the floor groaning and holding Remus. Both men were bleeding heavily.

“I'm all right,” Sirius insisted as Pomfrey began casting spells. “Remus is hit worse. I think they got an artery in his leg. I put a binding on it.”

The werewolf was unconscious, and Pomfrey healed the heaviest of his injuries before putting him in another bed next to Sirius. “Who else am I expecting?”

“Filius was holding his own last I saw,” Sirius groaned. “Minerva blindsided Voldemort when Remus got hit, and she was trying to link up with Flitwick.”

“So they're on their own now?” Harry asked, pressing a kerchief to a cut over his eye.

“We can't get back there in time,” Sirius said. “Are you all right?”

“I'll live,” Harry replied. Another Portkey landed, McGonagall and Flitwick landing in a messy heap on the floor. “Oh, thank goodness, that's everyone.”

“No it's not,” Flitwick grunted as he sat up. “Albus is still there with our reinforcements. They're trying to withdraw.”

“Who else is still in the fight?” Sirius asked.

“He managed to bring Alastor, Emmeline, and Dedalus,” Flitwick replied. “Albus was taking on Voldemort alone when our Portkeys activated. Is Harry all right?”

“I'm alive,” Harry said. Flitwick relaxed. “How's McGonagall?”

“She was Stunned, so I grabbed her,” Flitwick said. “ _Ennervate_.” The witch sprang awake, grabbing her wand and nearly casting a spell before realizing where she was. “We're fine, Minerva.”

“And Harry?”

“Right here, Professor,” Harry said.

“Now we wait,” McGonagall declared, hauling herself into a bed. Pomfrey finished healing Sirius and Remus and looked McGonagall and Flitwick over. “We're all right. No injuries.”

“You made it out of there without a scratch?” Neville asked.

“I am rather good at what I do,” the Transfiguration professor said dryly.

Neville sat down hard on a bed, the adrenaline wearing off. “You hurt, Harry?”

“I'll live,” Harry said. “Some cuts and bruises. I'm pretty sure my wrist is fractured, and I got hit with a Cruciatus a couple times.” Neville flinched. “I think I could live without ever feeling that again.”

“You were hit with a Cruciatus?” McGonagall asked.

“Voldemort,” Harry groaned. “He was showboating.” Harry swayed suddenly and remembered how exhausted he was. His wrist was throbbing, and he winced as he twitched his fingers and felt spikes of pain running up his arm.

“Into a bed, Mr. Potter,” Madame Pomfrey said, pulling potions from the storage cabinet.

“Not yet,” Harry said. “Not until the others get back. And I need to know what happened.”

“Krum appeared at the exit to the maze, holding the Cup,” Hermione said. People started cheering, but he…he went to Dumbledore and told him that you were in a graveyard, alone, that it was a trap. Dumbledore didn’t even answer him, he just grabbed McGonagall and Flitwick and ran. I’ve never seen him move so fast, he’s so old but he’s _fast_.”

Harry raised his uninjured hand. “Hermione. Focus.”

Hermione nodded. “They ran back to the castle and we followed them, they had a Portkey ready and we grabbed on before they could stop us.”

“You could have been killed out there,” Harry sighed. “I appreciate your coming, but…that was way too dangerous.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Ron said. “C’mon, Harry, you needed help!”

“ _I don’t need you getting yourselves killed for me!_ ”

“Enough,” Madame Pomfrey called. “Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, Mister Longbottom, what sort of condition are you in?”

“Tired, but none of us got hurt,” Neville reported. “We're mostly just…scared. And worried about the people who are still fighting.”

As if on cue, the final four appeared in the Hospital Wing. Dumbledore was leaning heavily on Moody, his left arm badly mangled, soaked in blood, and cradled to his chest. There were a dozen other injuries visible on the old man through the blood-sodden robes. Moody seemed unharmed, but Emmeline Vance was bleeding profusely from a leg injury and had Dedalus Diggle slung over her shoulder.

“Drink this,” Madame Pomfrey ordered, shoving a glass into Harry’s hand. “I’ll handle this. You get in a bed. _Now_.”

Resigned, Harry downed the potion and climbed into a bed. “Harry, what happened back there?” Hermione asked.

The world began to swim. “Voldemort is a twat and a coward who doesn’t have the guts to fight me,” Harry slurred as the potions took effect.

Hermione blinked. “I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

Then someone dropped a piano on his head and the pillow came up and smothered Harry.

—ML—

Harry managed to sit up, his mouth dry and his head spinning. “Anybody alive in here?” He coughed.

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, her face grave. “Ah, Mister Potter. Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like a giant sat on me,” Harry mumbled.

“Like a giant _what_?”

“Sat, sat on me!” Harry repeated, turning slightly pink. “Are the others all right?”

“Misters Black and Lupin are well, but resting. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick are unharmed, as are your friends.”

“And the others?” Pomfrey hesitated, and Harry swallowed hard. “How many did we lose?”

“Harry…”

Harry stared her down. “ _How many did we lose_.”

“One.”

Harry grimaced. “Damn it.”

“They knew the risks, Harry,” Dumbledore said from a nearby bed. “As did I.”

Harry looked over at him. The Headmaster was heavily bruised and bandaged. “Wait, I thought it was you who died! You looked like an ad for death when you got here.”

“Well, I survived, for what it is worth,” Dumbledore replied. “But…not all of me made it.” He raised his left arm, the limb abruptly ending halfway up the forearm. “The last curse Voldemort managed to land on me could have killed me. It was shredding my flesh.” He looked down at his injured arm. “An arm is a small cost to pay for what we saved.”

“Then who did we lose?” Harry demanded. “I saw Moody and Emmeline Vance still alive. Was it Dedalus?”

“He took a Killing Curse in the back,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Emmeline may lose her leg, it's too soon to tell.”

“At least you recovered the body,” Moody said from the doorway. “Good to see you still alive, Albus.”

“More or less,” Dumbledore replied.

“Dedalus made his decision,” Moody pressed. “Don't any of you start kicking yourselves over this. Especially you, Lefty.”

Dumbledore paused as Moody left. “Did he just…”

“You should punch him,” Harry suggested. “Oh. Wait.”

Dumbledore's jaw dropped. “ _Harry_!”

“Most of us made it out,” Sirius chimed in. “High five! Oh. Oops.”

“Et tu, Sirius?”

“Don't worry, Dumbledore, I'm on your side,” Remus groaned. “Can I give you a hand?”

“Et _three_ , Remus?” Dumbledore asked as Harry sputtered. “I used to say that I would give my left arm to keep you safe, Harry, but this is just silly.”

Madam Pomfrey came bustling in at the sound of the four of them howling with laughter. “What's going on in here?”

“Just indulging in a little _Black_ humor,” Dumbledore said. Sirius was choking on laughter at this point, and Remus was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Harry subsided. “What happened to the Death Eaters we captured?”

“They are being held in the dungeons, under the watchful eyes of Professors McGonagall and Flitwick,” Dumbledore explained, his eyes twinkling. “I daresay they will have a very difficult time explaining their way out of this particular situation. Minister Fudge and Amelia Bones have been notified. The Aurors are on their way.”

—ML—

“This is…difficult to accept,” Fudge was saying. He, Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, and Harry were gathered in Dumbledore’s office, Fudge pacing in front of the desk as Harry leaned against the bookshelf, his arm in a sling. He didn’t need it, but the appearance was important.

“You now have five Death Eaters in custody, still wearing their robes, captured during Voldemort’s rebirth,” Dumbledore replied. “Malfoy, Avery, Nott, Macnair, and Yaxley.”

“Malfoy?” Fudge repeated, aghast. “Lucius Malfoy? He was cleared! A very old family – donations to excellent causes!”

“Which he used to escape the consequences of his actions,” Dumbledore said.

“I come from a very old family as well, Minister,” Sirius added. “And I’ll tell you, most of them were Dark as they come.”

“If you didn’t have these men in custody, I would say you were mad,” Fudge sighed. “But…Dumbledore, are you sure?” He practically whined. “He just…he _can’t_ be back, everyone _knows_ he’s gone.”

Dumbledore pursed his lips, glancing pointedly down at his missing arm. “ _Quite_ sure, thank you.”

“Minister, you have a choice to make,” Harry said, not looking at Fudge as he stroked Fawkes. “Very few people get to choose how they are remembered. You can be the Minister for Magic who led Wizarding Britain through a crisis, the man who stood against the darkness when nobody else could, or you can go down in history as the man who let evil run unchecked. You had two men working for the enemy in your midst. Lucius Malfoy had a great deal of influence at the Ministry, but that damage can be handled. Walden Macnair was a Ministry employee, but his arrest can be played into the ongoing investigations at the Ministry and rooting out the corruption that persisted from the last war. The question is, are you brave enough to do what needs to be done?”

“What are you suggesting?” Fudge asked warily.

“What we need, what Britain needs, is a strong Minister,” Harry said, looking Fudge in the eye. “And to be that strong Minister, you may have to do things that are difficult or unpopular.” Harry forced a smile. “Believe me, if I were in your shoes right now, I don’t know that I could do it. But history will vindicate you. Step one is to accept the truth – You-Know-Who has returned. Can you accept that?”

Fudge swallowed hard. “Yes. The memories you showed us, young Krum’s testimony about the graveyard, the various injured, the captured men…”

“Captured Death Eaters,” Harry corrected. “Don’t let them convince you that they were bewitched.”

“It all looks…unfortunate,” Fudge said. “Especially considering Ludo’s disappearance.”

Harry blinked in surprise. “Wait, what?”

“Bagman? He’s vanished. So has that Durmstrang headmaster, Karkaroff. One or both of them was responsible for…” His face curled in distaste. “For entering you in the Tournament, Harry.”

“Interesting,” Harry murmured. “But not important right now. Step two is to prepare for the dark times ahead. There has already been one breakout from Azkaban, and I promise you there will be more if the dementors remain in control there.”

“Preposterous,” Fudge scoffed. “Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!”

“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!” said Dumbledore. “They will not remain loyal to you, not when Voldemort can offer them more than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hard-pressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!”

“Professor, please,” Harry said gently. “Minister, you’ve already removed several of his inner circle from his reach, and a great deal of financial power and intelligence on the Ministry with them. But the dementors are only as loyal as their options. As soon as Voldemort offers them the chance to feed on a larger population, they _will_ take it. They are dangerous, but not reliable.”

“I can’t do that,” Fudge protested. “It would mean the end of my career.”

“Not if it’s presented well,” Harry insisted. “Come on, haven’t you got a PR department down at the Ministry? The people of Britain will accept anything as long as you put the right spin on it.”

“Where do you find these people, Dumbledore?” Fudge asked, looking to the Headmaster.

“If you think that’s bad, you’re going to love his suggestion,” Harry said.

“The second step you must take – and at once,” Dumbledore pressed on, “is to send envoys to the giants.”

Fudge goggled at him. “Envoys to the giants?” He sputtered, finding his voice. “What madness is this?”

“Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,” said Dumbledore, “or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom.”

“You – you cannot be serious!” Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. “If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants – people hate them, Dumbledore – it would mean the end of my career!”

“We are at _war_ , Minister,” Harry said. “Are you or are you not the man who can lead this country through the dark times ahead? We’re not asking you to publicly announce that you’re trying to keep the giants out of Voldemort’s camp!” He paused, glancing upwards as if pleading for either strength or a convenient spontaneous combustion. “Minister, what goes on in the Department of Mysteries?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about that, seeing as it is top secret,” Fudge replied automatically.

“So why can’t the same excuse hold true for you approaching the giants, werewolves, and removing the Dementors?” Dumbledore asked. “Surely it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you to slap a big ‘classified’ stamp on the files, block any stories, and let it blow itself out.”

“Very few people are given the role of defending freedom in the hour of greatest danger,” Harry said. “Will you accept this responsibility, or will the rest of us fight alone?”

“You, a child, intend to fight?” Fudge asked skeptically.

“As you saw, he stated plainly that I’m number one on his to-do list,” Harry said. “I’m the first person in his way. I don’t shrink from this responsibility. I don’t welcome it. I would _love_ to hand this whole mess off to someone old enough to drink legally and go on with my life. But I don’t have that luxury, so I’m going to stand in his way and do what I have to do. I dueled him, you know. I fought him myself, and I’m standing here, unafraid, telling you that the time to act is now.”

Fudge raised an eyebrow. “We are on the cusp of war, again, and you expect me to believe you aren’t scared?”

Harry shook his head. “Believe me? I suppose. Whether you believe in me personally or not isn’t really relevant. But believe me when I say we have a difficult time ahead of us. If you’re scared now, I get it. Things are going to get much worse before they get better. But I’m not scared, and you can take that to the bank.”

“And what makes you so confident?”

“Are you a student of history, Minister?” Harry asked. “I don’t particularly pay attention in History of Magic, but when I learned he wasn’t quite dead, I started studying. He tried killing me once, and he’s tried again since then. Forewarned, forearmed, all that. He graduated from Hogwarts in 1945. He spent the next several decades trying to take over Britain. And you know what? Despite all the atrocities he committed, all the blood he spilled and all the lives he ruined, _he failed_. He failed then, and we’re going to make sure he fails again. We have the chance to make a difference, here, now, and I honestly believe that’s why you became Minister. To make a difference. Now you have a chance to stand against the greatest enemy of our time, to make the greatest difference, to be the greatest Minister that ever was, and I _dare_ you to take that chance! To fight back, and to show those that would have us live in fear that we won’t be broken!” He paused for effect. “So what’s it going to be?”

Fudge was silent for several moments. “I had hoped, _hoped_ , that you were simply trying to start a panic that would destabilize everything we have worked to rebuild,” he finally said. “But I cannot shut my eyes to what is in front of me.” Harry’s heart soared. “I will do what I can, Albus, but there are limits. The dementors will remain in Azkaban. I will make quiet inquiries, looking for anyone mad enough to be an envoy to the giants, but I do not foresee a great deal of enthusiasm for _that_ diplomatic mission.” He rubbed his chin. “There’s still the official presentation of the winnings, of course.”

“Is there any question on who won?” Harry asked.

“Krum insists that you touched the Cup first, and the monitoring charms in place support his claim,” Fudge explained. “The ceremony will be tonight. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Sirius, Remus, there is much to be done,” Dumbledore said after Fudge left. “You’ll need to alert the old crowd, make preparations.”

“Of course, Albus,” Sirius said. “C’mon, Moony.”

A moment later, Harry and Dumbledore were alone in the office. “That could have gone a lot worse,” Harry said, discarding the sling.

“It could have gone better, as well,” Dumbledore replied. “I can only hope that Minister Fudge comes through.”

“At least he admitted Voldemort’s back,” Harry sighed. “He called me crazy the last time. Called you crazy too, now that I think of it.”

“I have been called worse,” Dumbledore said lightly.

Harry gave him an irritated look. “Yeah, I suppose. What do we do now?”

“Prepare,” Dumbledore said simply. “But for the moment, take some time and catch our breath.”

“Would you just be angry for a minute?” Harry exploded. “You lost your bloody arm, Albus! _Your arm_! How are you not upset about that?”

“Who said I was not upset?” Dumbledore said calmly. “Make no mistake, Harry. I am burning with anger. But you know as well as I do that you must never let your anger get out of hand.”

“Of course I know that,” Harry snapped. “You told me yourself once that feeling emotional pain was part of being human.” He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing hard as a barrage of memories surged to the forefront. “It wasn’t until much later that I truly understood what you meant.”

“It is one of the hardest lessons in life to learn,” Dumbledore replied. “You can probably guess when it was that I learned it myself.”

“And I can guess when it was that you learned to never let your anger get out of hand,” Harry said quietly. “I haven’t quite gotten the hang of controlling my anger, though. You asked me if I hate Voldemort. I don’t. I don’t know if I have it in me to hate, truly, deeply, _hate_ , like he does.” Harry turned, meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. “But I do have a great deal of anger in me. It’s like fire, or a hammer. It’s a tool. Anger isn’t good or bad, it just _is_. It’s what you do with it that matters. Anger, controlled and directed, can be one of the most constructive things on the planet.”

“Passion,” Dumbledore surmised.

Harry shook his head. “No. Anger, balanced with control. I’m not you, Albus. I don’t want to be, either. I’m not fighting this fight because I want to, or because Voldemort killed my parents. It’s the job. Voldemort stands to hurt a lot of people. I’m in between him and them.” Harry’s face hardened. “And that’s _exactly_ where I mean to stand.”

“Many people will stand with you.”

“That’s what worries me,” Harry said. “The last time…so many people died. Young people. My age, younger even. And the last thing I want is for anyone to die carrying my banner into battle.”

“Yet they may have to fight, before this is over,” Dumbledore warned. “You do them no service by keeping them unaware of the danger ahead.”

“So I’ll just let them run off and get killed, shall I?” Harry snapped. “They’re _kids_. Kids who have to choose sides in a war, who sign up to fight it before they’ve lived any kind of life, are still kids. You yourself kept me in the dark about what I was to face.”

“Which clearly was a mistake I have no intention of repeating,” Dumbledore said. “Harry, we are at war.”

“This isn’t a war,” Harry insisted. “I won’t let it be. Voldemort’s back. I can deal with that. But I’m not going to let him take over the Ministry and plunge Britain into darkness. _Not this time_. No matter what.”

—ML—

“Did the Minister believe you?” Hermione asked as Harry reentered the Gryffindor Common Room.

“He didn’t like it, but I think he got the point,” Harry said. “There’s a lot to be done.”

“Harry, you’ve been training with Dumbledore, haven’t you?” Ron asked. “I mean, you…you dueled You-Know-Who. A fourth-year just couldn’t do that.”

Harry looked uncomfortable. “I…yeah. Ever since first year. We knew he wasn’t dead, so I had to be ready.”

“Can you teach us?” Ron asked. “If he is back, things are only going to get worse.”

“Depends,” Harry said. “Are you going to tag along on rescue missions again and get yourselves hurt?”

“Not if we know how to fight,” Neville protested. “Look, you might be number one on You-Know-Who’s list, but I’m probably not that far behind.” He took a deep breath. “The Death Eaters…”

“I know,” Harry interrupted.

Neville paused. “How long have you known?” He asked suspiciously.

“Years,” Harry said truthfully. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Does somebody want to fill in the rest of the class?” Ron asked.

“My parents,” Neville said. “You-Know-Who’s followers tortured them. They…never recovered.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “I…Nev, I’m so sorry.”

“If he’s back, that means that they might come back and finish the rest of the Longbottoms,” Neville said. “I’m not going to sit back and wait for that.”

Harry sighed, looking at Hermione. “I don’t suppose I can talk _you_ out of this?”

“Not a chance,” Hermione said dryly.

Harry gave an angry growl. “You are forcing me to be the voice of reason, and it is _not_ a good look for me!” He threw up his hands. “Fine!” He stomped towards the door. “I need some sun. I’ll be outside. If you’re coming, come along.”

As Harry descended the last step into the Entrance Hall, he found Malfoy coming up from the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. Malfoy glanced around – Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers – then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, “You’re dead, Potter.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, unable to pass up the opportunity. “Funny,” he said as Ron, Hermione, and Neville came down the stairs behind him, “you’d think I’d have stopped walking around…”

“I'm going to kill you for what you've done to my father,” Malfoy hissed.

“Any time you want to try, you just let me know,” Harry said coldly. “I dueled Voldemort to a standstill. What’s the matter?” he added, as the three Slytherins flinched at the sound of the name. “He’s your dad’s mate, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?” Harry stared him down. “Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough. Your boys here aren't scaring anyone who matters anymore – you might want to trade up to a bigger set. I threw down with a Dark Lord, a bunch of teenagers with daddy issues just don't scare me anymore. Your daddy's in prison, your mum's being passed around the other Death Eaters like a bloody Quaffle. Voldemort couldn't out-fight a fourteen-year-old.”

“You're just an idiotic halfblood, Potter, you're no match for him,” Malfoy scoffed.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Harry sighed.

“You piss off, Potter.”

“Malfoy, if I wanted my comeback, I’d have wiped it off your mother’s chin.” Ron choked on his laughter, but Harry didn't want to escalate things further. “Think about it. He doesn't take failure really well. You father's failed him repeatedly. Do you really think he's going to favor your family much, even if he wins?” Malfoy didn't respond, but Harry spotted a flicker of indecision in his eyes. “You may be a racist berk, but you're not a _complete_ idiot. You're going to have to choose a side. Make sure it's the one that'll keep your family alive. The Dark _might_ benefit you more, but the Light _will_ make sure you're around to enjoy your station.”

“What's going on here?” Harry turned, finding McGonagall coming down the stairs from her office.

“Oh, just the usual impotent threats from Malfoy and his flunkies here,” Harry said brightly. “Promising to kill me for making his father face the consequences of his actions. He seems to have this delusion that we’re arch-rivals, when the reality is, he's just a pain in the ass.” McGonagall was glaring at Malfoy, and Harry decided to push his luck again. “I hope he gets anal cancer. I hope he finds himself naked on all fours on a Muggle examination table with a strange man looking up his ass. And I hope that as the oncologist prods at his asshole with a sharp stick, he begins to understand what a pain in the ass he was to me.”

“Harry,” Hermione said, scandalized. “What are you saying?”

“I never know until I’m finished talking,” Harry replied truthfully. “Come on. It’s a lovely day and I’m not going to waste it talking to him.” He gave Malfoy a nod. “Think about the future.”

—ML—

_HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS_

_In a brief statement on Friday night, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to this country and is active once more. “It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord – well, you know who I mean – is alive and among us again,” said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. “We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense which will be delivered free to all wizarding homes within the coming month.”_

_The Minister’s statement was met with dismay and alarm from the wizarding community. The exact circumstances of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return have not been disclosed to the public…_

Harry stopped reading. “I notice they didn’t mention either of us,” he said to Dumbledore. “How long, do you think, before the wheels come off the trolley?”

“With the Minister at least accepting the truth of the situation, we have a chance to mitigate the damage,” Dumbledore said. “But I fear the days ahead will be dark indeed.”

—ML—

Harry’s trunk was packed; Hedwig was back in her cage on top of it. He, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were waiting in the crowded entrance hall with the rest of the fourth years for the carriages that would take them back to Hogsmeade station. It was another beautiful summer’s day, almost ironically lovely considering the fresh darkness that had been unleashed into the world, Harry thought.

“‘Arry!”

He looked around. Fleur Delacour was hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Beyond her, far across the grounds Harry could see Hagrid helping Madame Maxime to back two of the giant horses into their harness. The Beauxbatons carriage was about to take off.

“We will see each uzzer again, I ‘ope,” said Fleur as she reached him, holding out her hand. “I am ‘oping to get a job ‘ere, to improve my Eenglish.”

Harry grinned. “Gringotts, I suppose?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly for a moment, and her cheeks pinked. “Perhaps.”

“I appreciate your comment in that article,” Harry teased.

She grinned back. “Good-bye, ‘Arry,” she said, turning to go. “It ‘az been a pleasure meeting you!”

“Wonder how the Durmstrang students are getting back,” said Ron. “D’ you reckon they can steer that ship without Karkaroff?”

“Karkaroff did not steer,” said a gruff voice. “He stayed in his cabin and let us do the vork.”

“Ah, Viktor,” Harry said. “I…appreciate your honesty. I didn’t have the chance to say it before, but…”

Viktor held up a hand. “I am no cheat. You touched the Cup first. And I vould fight anyone that vould take your victory from you.”

Harry nodded. “Viktor, it’s been a pleasure.” He waggled his eyebrows. “In more ways than one.”

“For me, as vell,” Viktor said with a grin, shaking hands with Neville and Ron. “Could I have a vord?” he asked Hermione.

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh…yes…all right.” She followed Krum through the crowd and out of sight.

“You’d better hurry up!” Ron called loudly after her. “The carriages’ll be here in a minute!” He glanced to Harry. “What’s his angle?”

“They’re friends, from what he told me,” Harry said with a shrug. “You know Hermione, Quidditch reputations mean nothing. I guess that’s refreshing for a bloke like him.”

They returned a few minutes later. “I must find Diggory,” said Krum abruptly to Harry. “He vos alvays polite to me. Alvays. Even though I vos from Durmstrang – with Karkaroff,” he added, scowling.

“Have you got a new headmaster yet?” said Harry.

Krum shrugged. He held out his hand as Fleur had done, shook Harry’s hand, and had already started walking away when Ron burst out, “Can I have your autograph?” Hermione turned away, smiling at the carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive, as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

The good weather held on the journey back to London, and the first few minutes passed in almost painful silence. “So, when do we start?” Neville asked finally.

Harry glanced down at his trainers. “I had hoped it would take a bit longer before someone asked that question.”

“If he hadn’t, I would have,” Ron said. “Fudge may have listened to you, but he’s not going to have kids trained to fight. We’re going to have to learn ourselves.”

“I still don’t like it,” Harry said. “You all shouldn’t…shouldn’t be in the fight.”

“But we’re going to be anyway,” Hermione insisted.

“And that’s the problem!” Harry exploded. “You’re all throwing yourselves into a fight that isn’t yours, and the last thing I want to do is have to watch all of you die!” He barely avoided blurting out ‘again.’

“Isn’t ours?” Neville asked quietly. “Harry, you’re my best friend. It’s definitely my fight.”

“Harry,” Ron said quietly. “Are…are you all right? Deep down, I mean.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, before pausing. “I…” Helplessly, he realized that was the first time anyone had asked him that since Voldemort’s rebirth. “No, not really. There were about forty times I could have died this year and now you lot want to put yourselves in danger. But you’re right. You’re going to be in danger one way or the other, and going in unprepared would be worse. So, I’ve decided I’m going to be all right for the rest of the week, and then we’ll go from there. As for training…well, we’re…” He broke off as the compartment door opened.

“There you are,” Ginny said, Luna trailing behind her. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“That’s why I was hiding,” Harry said. “That, and I don’t want anybody else asking to sleep with me.”

“I know you’re going to start teaching them to fight,” Ginny went on as if Harry hadn’t interrupted. “We want in.”

Harry looked at Ron. Neville looked at Ron. Hermione looked at Ron. Ron had nobody to look at, which left him in a bit of a pickle. He settled for closing his mouth and twiddling his thumbs innocently. “I get the idea I won’t need to ask how you found out,” Harry said. “How do you expect to practice over the summer?”

“What would stop me?”

“A little thing called the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery,” Harry suggested.

Ginny smirked. “So I guess I’ve been expelled for years, then.”

Ron gaped at her. “How’d you get away with it?”

Harry frowned. “I’d hoped you hadn’t figured that out.”

Hermione sighed. “Households in which at least one magical adult resides are exempt from such pesky things as restrictions for underage magic.”

“It's because magical guardians are supposed to police their children,” Neville explained.

“It's because the laws were written by Purebloods,” Luna said serenely.

“I…have to agree with Luna,” Hermione said faintly.

“Are you feeling okay?” Harry asked, concerned.

“I-I think so,” Hermione replied hesitantly. “But I don't understand how I just agreed with Luna.”

“Hermione, are you really sure you shouldn’t at least listen to Luna?” Harry asked.

“But there’s no proof of half of the things she claims!” Hermione insisted. “Are you telling me you believe her?”

“Well, the Muggles have no proof of real magic existing, and we regularly give life to inanimate objects by turning them into animals,” Harry offered. “Where do we draw the line? Is the existence of an animal we simply haven’t discovered yet so outlandish?”

Hermione clamped her jaw shut. “Ugh. Fine. Believe her.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not that crazy. The seventh years are regularly turning bits of string into elephants, and the Muggles still haven’t gotten real proof of Nessie. You have to suspend your disbelief.”

“Where do we draw the line?” Hermione parroted. “Do we just believe anything anyone tells us? I put my trust in books!”

“And who says the book is finished?” Harry asked.

Hermione stared at him, an angry tic pulling at the corner of her eye. “You are impossible to argue with, you know that?”

“It’s a gift.”

“If I might steer this conversation back on track,” Ginny said, “as long as my parents don’t find out, there’s nothing to stop me using magic.”

“Most of what you would be learning wouldn’t exactly be subtle,” Harry said. “And most of it can’t be done without a partner.”

“I’ve got two,” Ginny said easily, nodding at her brother and Luna. “Any other excuses?”

“Plenty,” Harry replied. “I don’t fancy dying, and if your mum finds out you’re even vaguely involved in anything dangerous, it’ll be my head mounted on the mantelpiece, not yours.” Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but Harry cut her off. “Look, anything that I’d teach you will have to wait until next year, because I get the feeling a lot of people will be in line after you two. So, for now, read up on jinxes and rest up, because next year’s going to be a big one.”

Harry excused himself halfway through the train ride, wandering down the length of the train. Finally, he found Cedric sitting with his friends, the new Hogwarts graduates chatting amicably about the Tournament and their plans for the future. Some of the Hufflepuffs in there with him glared as he entered, presumably feeling he had stolen the win from Cedric, but the man rose from his seat, grinning broadly. “Harry! Let’s talk outside.” The two stepped into the hallway. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” Harry said. _Alive and well. That’s one who made it_. “How’s your leg?”

“Madame Pomfrey fixed it in about two minutes,” Cedric said. “Didn’t even have to stay overnight.”

“Probably for the best,” Harry muttered.

Cedric’s smile faded. “Yeah, I heard… _something_ happened.” He gave Harry a wry look. “And knowing what I do of you, I’m betting you were somehow involved.”

“Hey,” Harry protested. “That’s…” He paused and sighed. “All right, that’s fair.”

“Krum shows up with the Cup hollering about you and a graveyard, You-Know-Who comes back, and Dumbledore loses an arm?” Cedric said. “Harry, what happened?”

Harry gave a brittle smile. “You really don’t want to know.”

“What exactly did I miss back in the maze?” Cedric asked. “When I saw the Cup, I felt…I don’t know. I never put much by Divination, but I felt something weird, like…like something terrible might have happened if I had touched that Cup.” He frowned. “Like something terrible was _supposed_ to happen.”

“Look at it this way,” Harry said. “If you were supposed to touch the Cup, and something terrible was supposed to happen to you, you just proved that it didn’t have to happen.”

“You think so?”

“The future isn’t set,” Harry said. “There’s no fate but what we make for ourselves.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Cedric admitted. “Keep it together, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “Be safe out there.” The two shook hands, and Harry moved on down the train, looking for the right compartment.

“Fred, George, you got a moment?”

“Of course,” Fred said. “We made a bundle on you winning the Tournament.”

“Really?” Harry asked. “Oh. Then I suppose you won’t need this money,” he pulled the sack with the Triwizard winnings out of his pocket and shook it.

Lee Jordan’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

“Yes way. Take it,” he said, and he thrust the sack into George’s hands.

“What?” said Fred, looking flabbergasted.

“Take it,” Harry repeated firmly. “I don’t want it.”

“You’re mental,” George said, trying to push it back at Harry.

“Certifiable, but that’s not the point,” Harry replied. “You take it, and get inventing. It’s for the joke shop.”

“He _is_ mental,” Fred said in an almost awed voice.

“Listen, if you don’t take it, I’m throwing it down the drain. I don’t want it and I don’t need it. But I could do with a few laughs. We could all do with a few laughs. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need them more than usual before long.”

“Harry,” said George weakly, weighing the money bag in his hands, “there’s a thousand Galleons in here.”

“Yeah, I know. I counted it. I may have even rolled around in it naked. But think about it this way. You two aren’t just going to be making joke products, and if you build something saleable, I’ve got a company that’s looking for good products to sell.”

The twins stared at him. “Harry,” Fred began, but Harry pulled out his wand.

“Look,” he said flatly, “take it, or I’ll hex you. I know some good ones. Just do me one favor, okay? Don’t _ever_ tell your mother where you got the money.”

He left the compartment before they could say another word.

—ML—

It was barely two days before the Order of the Phoenix was gathered at Harry’s flat. Most of them were gathered around the table, and Harry was leaning against the wall, trying to avoid notice. He was more than a little surprised to see Percy Weasley sitting at the table next to Bill, Snape lurking behind both of them in the opposite corner from Harry. “Thank you all for coming,” Dumbledore said. “As you are no doubt aware by now, Voldemort has returned. We are unsure how exactly he avoided death before, but there is no doubt. He has, indeed, returned.”

“I had hoped Fudge was full of it,” Sturgis Podmore said.

“Alas, no,” Dumbledore remarked. “There has already been a clash, and casualties, on both sides.”

“I was wondering where Dedalus was,” Hestia said. “I had heard, of course, but…” She shook her head, scowling. “Is Emmeline recovering?”

“Slowly, but yes,” Dumbledore said. “Several Death Eaters were captured in the fight, but as you can see, I myself was wounded in the battle.” Silence reigned around the table for a moment. “I am sure many of you have questions or concerns about the times ahead, so please, feel free to ask.”

“Dumbledore, I don’t think Harry needs to be here, don’t you agree?” Mrs. Weasley said. “He’s far too young.”

“And less than two weeks ago I threw down with Voldemort,” Harry said. There was a collective shudder at the name.

“He’s a part of this, Molly,” Sirius said. “I don’t like it much myself, but it’s how things are.”

“No one’s denying what he’s done!” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. “But it’s not down to you to decide what’s good for Harry!”

Sirius’s face went hard. “I think you’ll find it’s _exactly_ down to me to decide what’s good for my godson,” he said sharply. “He’s not a child.”

“He’s not an adult either!” said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. “He’s not James, Sirius!”

“I’m perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,” Sirius replied coldly.

“I’m not sure you are! Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it’s as though you think you’ve got your best friend back!”

Sirius’s face darkened further. “I’m well aware that he’s not James, Molly. He’s my godson, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s my son. I don’t like putting him in danger. But he’s in danger anyway, and I won’t have him be blind to what’s going on.”

“My being at school didn’t stop multiple attempts on my life,” Harry said. “So, let’s stop pretending that we can keep me out of this fight, yeah? We all know I’m not my father. That doesn’t make me any less of a target.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, “well…I can see I’m going to be overruled. But speaking as someone who has Harry’s best interests at heart…”

“My ‘best interests’ include knowing what’s going on,” Harry said.

“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” Remus said sharply. Mrs. Weasley’s lower lip was trembling, and she looked to Dumbledore for a final word on the matter.

“Keeping him in the dark does him no favors,” Dumbledore said. “As much as I would like to spare him this, the truth of the matter is that Harry needs to know.”

“Might we get on with this?” Snape said from the other end of the room. “Since we’ve established that the boy does need to be here.”

“Yes, of course,” Dumbledore said. “As you know, Minister Fudge has acknowledged Voldemort’s return. While we were unable to persuade him to remove the Dementors from Azkaban, he has agreed to quietly reach out to the giants to prevent them from joining the Death Eaters’ forces. Bill, I believe you’ve made contact with the goblins?”

Bill nodded. “Ragnok is feeling rather anti-wizard lately, apparently some flap with Ludo Bagman making bets with goblins and welching on paying.”

“The Ministry is still searching for him after his involvement in the Triwizard Tournament, but there’s been no sign of him that I’ve heard of,” Percy broke in. “There are a great deal of rumors flying around the Ministry, to the point that it’s become difficult to separate the truth from the speculation.” The young man paused. “I hate to say this, but it appears that he may have had something to do with Harry being entered in the Tournament. There isn’t a great deal of proof yet, but for the moment, all fingers point to him. But I’m sorry, Bill, I interrupted you.”

Bill nodded. “No worries, Perce. Ragnok seems amenable enough to our side. He knows that we know that if You-Know-Who offered them the freedoms we’ve been denying them for centuries, they’re going to be tempted. But he also knows that they’re a bunch of blood purists – their lot in life probably won’t be improved if they win. But the goblins aren’t a united front, and there are factions who would press – loudly – to side with You-Know-Who if he threw them some crumbs. So, Ragnok’s stalling for the moment, seeing who pulls ahead. All I can say right now is it’s better than nothing.”

“Thank you, Bill. Remus?”

“I’ve been in contact with most of the other werewolves in Britain and quite a few across Europe for the last several years,” Remus said. “Those of us that don’t…” He paused. “The ones that don’t prey on humans, they just want a fair deal. But with the anti-werewolf sentiment that’s been going around the past few years, it’s been almost impossible for them to get a decent job in most places. The less dangerous werewolves are neutral, or actively on our side. It’s the monsters like Greyback that we have to worry about, the ones who like hurting people. All Voldemort has to do is whistle and they’ll come running. Thankfully, those are the minority, but they’re the berks who make the news.” He looked uncomfortable. “Those who are sympathetic to us are understandably hesitant to get directly involved. If a werewolf is involved in an incident, they know full well what people will focus on. But I’ve been told by several of them that when we need their help, they’ll be there.”

The meeting went on, and Harry frowned as various people reported in. Most of the various factions they were trying to keep out of Voldemort’s camp were either maintaining a neutral stance or hadn’t been contacted yet. Snape’s report on Voldemort gaining followers was tinged with his usual snide remarks, but informative nonetheless.

“And Kingsley,” Dumbledore finished. “Has there been any news from inside the Auror department?”

Kingsley shook his head. “Nothing yet. No disappearances, no deaths. Most of the older veterans know it’s just the calm before the storm, but the rookies are getting antsy, expecting something to happen. We all know it’s only a matter of time.”

“Keep alert,” Dumbledore warned. “When things do begin to happen, they will do so rapidly.”

“I doubt he wants to draw attention to himself,” Sirius said. “With a handful of his followers captured already and the news out, it would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn’t come off quite the way he wanted it to, I guess. You know, Harry not being dead and all.”

Eventually the meeting came to an end, and the Order dispersed, Dumbledore lingering as the rest of the Order departed. “The ritual is ready, or as ready as can be expected,” he said quietly. “Preparations are underway. I will keep you advised.”

—ML—

It took six weeks to have the ritual chamber assembled and for the stars to reach the correct positions. The night before had been a full moon, so Harry was relatively sure Remus and Sirius wouldn’t be sleeping lightly enough to notice his departure.

Dumbledore was waiting. “I want to restate how opposed to this idea I am,” the old man said. “You realize if this goes wrong, I’m criminally liable.”

“If this goes wrong, we’ll probably both be dead,” Harry replied. “You’ve seen the projections – you _wrote_ some of them. This is going to work. And if it doesn’t, well, we and half of Britain will never know the difference. Let’s do it.”

“Very well.” The two wizards began pumping magic into the crystal arrays, and once they began to glow with excess power Harry took his position in the middle of the chamber.

Dumbledore closed the connection, power flooding into the ritual designs engraved on the floor and walls. Once the magic flowing through the seals reached its peak, the room would be sealed, allowing for the fragment of soul to be removed from Harry, hopefully without killing him.

“Seventy percent,” Dumbledore called. “No warning signs yet!”

“Point of no return,” Harry shouted back over the magic thrumming in the room. “Keep going!”

“Eighty percent!” Harry twitched as he felt the eddies of magic suddenly shift, reacting to another presence. He turned, spotting the door to the chamber opening.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed as Sirius walked in, the man wide-eyed as he glanced over what was happening. Dumbledore was staring at the man in shock, clearly as surprised as Harry was. Harry could almost see Sirius’s thought processes and held out a hand, hollering a warning that went unheard as he sprinted towards Harry, grabbing him just as the magic reached its peak.

Time seemed to stand still as Harry reviewed the situation. None of the calculations or theories the two had gone over had accounted for a sudden intrusion of a third magical signature disrupting the ritual at the last moment. The Boy-Who-Lived wrapped his arms around his godfather, squeezing the man tight as he tried to invoke the same ancient magic his mother had used on him.

Harry’s last thought as the ritual went out of control was “at least we _probably_ won’t take the whole planet with us.”

Dumbledore came to first, having been farthest from the explosion. His robes were smoldering and his beard and hair were badly singed, and the stench of ozone hung thick in the air. The headmaster tried to roll over to check on Harry and Sirius, only to find himself too weak to move. A quick attempt at a rejuvenation spell failed when Dumbledore found his magic too drained to react, and the wizard grimaced before flicking open one of his several false teeth, crushing a pellet between his molars and swallowing. The condensed pellet contained a strong rejuvenation potion, and fresh strength surged into his body. The man groaned as he sat up, spotting four bodies in the middle of the chamber. Dumbledore shook his head, trying to clear his double vision, before realizing there really were four unconscious people in the middle of the room, that he recognized all of them, and that two of them should be dead.

A dozen different options whirled through the Headmaster’s mind, several of which involved fleeing to a non-extradition country, before he settled on a quick plan of action. Dropping to one knee, he pulled a bootlace free, enlarging it with a tap from his wand and draping it across all four people. Taking a firm hold of one end, he muttered “ _Portus_ ,” and the five of them vanished together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is what keeps me interested in continuing. I'll respond to comments in a timely manner as best I can, but even kudos are appreciated. If you're enjoying the story - spread the word! Message boards, tell your fandom friends, whatever. I'm trying to get more exposure for this fic.
> 
> In other words, gimme that sweet sweet validation because I'm a sad clown.


End file.
